


On Your Only Bones

by Lamachine



Series: Live Wires [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-18 02:43:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2332349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamachine/pseuds/Lamachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She watches silently as her chest moves up and down and her mother waits until the sun has completely set before she finally leaves. Sameen listens closely as she flat-lines."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kesdax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesdax/gifts).



> AU where the ISA hasn't killed Sameen. She quit her job (somewhat violently) in Relevance and they left her alone because IDK THEY JUST DID. Probably they realised trying to kill her was a mistake. Anyway the rest is the same, Sameen works with Harold and Reese, she just never was declared dead.

Every Friday at three p.m., come rain or shine, she calls her.

 

No matter where she is in the world, whatever mission she’s on, she finds a way, creates a window to step out of the job for a minute and calls, always at three. Sometimes the conversation lasts but a minute, often, around ten. Never more than half an hour, though, and that was when Sameen’s aunt had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and her mother had a lot of questions for her on the disease, the symptoms. Usually, her mom simply updates her on the weather and the neighbors’ lives, and then asks something about her health.

 

Like, her wrist had a weird twinge that morning, should she get that checked out? Also, she had a light fever with her cold, was that normal? And what happens if you do take more than the recommended dose of Tylenols?

 

And every Friday at three, Sameen answers the questions patiently.

 

It’s been that way ever since she left to study medicine, and Sameen would easily forget calling every week if she didn’t know that her mother lives for those calls, now that she’s alone in that big house she bought when Sameen turned sixteen. That gigantic three stories home with swings in the backyard, it stands against the sky like an apology and Sameen doesn’t like to think of it as home.

 

Still every week, Friday comes and she calls home.

 

And every Friday at three p.m., her mother picks up the phone.

 

That is, until one day, she doesn’t. That day, Sameen calls, and no one answers.

 

She can picture the ringtone running up the stairs, invading the empty space of that three stories high monstrosity, snaking around the old furniture and up into that room that was hers, that room that is probably still intact albeit somewhat empty. She lets it ring for two minutes before she disconnects the call, and immediately dials another number.

 

As soon as Finch picks up, she bluntly tells him that she’s taking a few days off and hangs up before he has time to ask questions. She has no answers to give anyway, just this awkward voice inside her that urges her to go home.

 

Sameen knows to rely on instincts; knows it can save a life.

 

She packs light and leaves early, only to find herself a few hours later in a hospital room, holding her mother’s hand while reading her chart and knowing there’s no coming back from this.

 

Her mother hadn’t told Sameen about the tumor. Hadn’t mentioned it being cancerous, and not a word about the lack of possible treatment. Every Friday for months she asked about colds and if there was a way to accelerate the healing of bruises and an impossible amount of irrelevant things that make Sameen’s head spin when she thinks of it now.

 

For months, her mother failed to mention the fact that she was dying and Sameen doesn’t know if she’s supposed to be grateful or mad and maybe she’s a little of both. When the nurses say that “she’s holding on to say goodbye” she represses the urge to punch them and only clenches her fist, hidden beside her as she keeps her other hand calmly settled inside her mother’s.

 

She watches silently as her chest moves up and down and her mother waits until the sun has completely set before she finally leaves. Sameen listens closely as she flat-lines, aware that her mom has signed papers asking that they do not try to revive her if she does. Sameen has seen the paperwork and recognized the signature, but the pale woman lying in that hospital bed, she isn’t entirely sure she knows her. The traits are the same, but twisted, and Sameen has seen enough patients dying in the E.R. to know this face will stick with her.

 

She averts her eyes when the nurses offer her their condolences, and respectfully waits until they’ve taken her mother’s body away before she signs away the paperwork. Her own signature doesn’t look like hers and she blinks, catching herself writing the wrong name down. The staff pins the hesitation on grief and she doesn’t argue, mentally blaming her physical exhaustion for the mix up between aliases.

 

The cold wind brings tears to her eyes when she finally leaves the hospital, and the two a.m. parking lot is still surprisingly full. Leaning against a lamppost, Shaw notices a familiar silhouette and doesn’t hesitate to shove her roughly against the building’s brick wall. It’s easy and familiar, like riding a bike.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Sameen barks, but Root doesn’t say anything. She pushes Sameen off of her, straightening her clothes before she walks towards the parking lot without a word. Behind her, Sameen follows until they reach the car she rented hours ago. In the backseat, she notices luggage that isn’t hers, and frowns as she sits in the driver’s seat.

 

“So, _now_ you wanna tell me why you’re here?” Sameen asks once she’s closed the car door, setting the keys in the ignition but not turning them over.

 

“To help,” Root replies, eyes staring out the window.

 

Sameen feels her throat tightening with anger and she closes her fists, hearing the nurses’ pitiful voices in her mind once again. “I don’t need your help.”

 

Root seems to notice the change in her tone because she turns to her then and downright smirks. “I’m not here to talk feelings, Shaw.” Her unconcerned voice somehow calms Sameen slightly as she continues, “there’s a lot of things to do when someone dies and –”

 

Sameen cuts her off; “setting up the funeral and the burial, emptying the house, putting it on the market, I know. I can take care of it.”

 

There’s a short silence while Root stares her down. “You don’t have a lot of time before the next number comes up,” she states coldly. “Your job doesn’t exactly offer you sick days, Shaw.”

 

The space between them suddenly feels too small and Sameen turns away, allowing her eyes to roam the darkened landscape. Near the hospital’s exit she sees a few nurses smoking, talking and laughing like it’s any other day, and she frowns.

 

“Look, I’ll let you deal with all the details if you’re uncomfortable,” Root offers, and her voice is sweet and soft again and Sameen wishes she would just shut up. “I’ll just... get you coffee when you need some and cook you supper so you don’t starve.”

 

Sameen looks at her then with a mean smirk. “So the Machine sent you here as my personal slave?”

 

“If you’re going to keep thinking in sub-dom terms,” Root grins, “we’re going to need a safe word.”

 

Silence settles between them again as Sameen searches Root’s traits for traces of compassion or pity, and she finds none. She sees discomfort and maybe the slight flush of desire, but nothing more. “Yes,” Root starts again, running a hand through her hair. “I’ll do anything you ask me to.”

 

“Then leave me alone,” Sameen replies even as Root adds, “except leaving you alone.”

 

Root’s smirk widens, and Sameen sighs as she turns the key. “I knew you were gonna say that.”

 

 

[...]

 

 

The dark house is a bit smaller than Sameen remembered it and she frowns as she parks in the front driveway, just in front of the garage. The engine dies down and yet she doesn’t move, staring at the three stories high monster where she lived for two years before she moved out for good. Beside her, Root remains quiet, so much that Sameen almost forgets that she is there.

 

“Shall we go in?” Root almost whispers, as if afraid of awakening the giant in front of them, and Sameen doesn’t answer.

 

Instead, she opens the door and steps out of the rental car, one hand leaning against the cold metal frame as she keeps both eyes on the house she used to call home. The house her mother had bought because she thought it would help Sameen if she stayed in one place for once. The three stories high monster where Sameen was supposed to start a new life, and make friends, and maybe become the normal child her parents had hoped for, all these years ago, when that pink cross had appeared on the pregnancy test.

 

Sameen shakes her head lightly as she grabs her luggage in the trunk and walks up the alley to the front door, Root following silently. When she pulls out the key from her pocket she still hesitates, and it’s only because she doesn’t want to lose face that she doesn’t return to the car and drive to a hotel.

 

The interior is as empty as it looked from the outside, and Sameen almost feels like a thief as she slips in, uncertain of where the light switch is. When Root finds it first, Sameen flinches, the sudden brightness hurting her dilated irises.

 

The long wooden staircase seems as grave and serious as she remembers and Sameen averts her eyes, gazing at the darkened living room and the small corridor that leads into the kitchen. She hesitates only a second before she drops the bags on the floor and heads towards the back of the house. There, she finds the cabinet she wasn’t allowed in back when she still lived here, and pulls out a bottle of rum.

 

“Always pictured you more like a Scotch girl,” Root suggests behind her, and Sameen ignores it as she twists off the cap and drinks from the bottle.

 

When she turns to look at Root, she finds only amusement in her gaze.

 

“Are you going to share?” Root asks, leaning on the door’s frame, and Sameen points the bottle her way. When Root takes a swig at it she grimaces, and Sameen laughs.

 

“Not very tough, are you?” she mocks as she steals the rum back, making her way through the darkness towards the light in the hall.

 

Sameen pulls up her luggage from the floor, breathing down deeply before she swallows another mouthful of rum. Only then does she start walking up the stairs, Root following a few steps behind, stopping when she reaches the second floor. There, at the end of the corridor, she sees the closed door of her mother’s bedroom and her heart skips a beat when she sees a light moving in the room.

 

“Head lights,” Root whispers behind her, and sure enough, the flicker of brightness disappears with the sound of a car driving by. “The Machine says there’s no one here but us.”

 

Blinking furiously, Sameen turns around. “I know that.”

 

Root doesn’t say anything after that as Sameen makes her way up to the third floor, army boots hitting each step loudly. When she reaches the last one she points out a door, groans something that sounds like “guest room” and moves towards the end of the corridor. Root stares at her for a few seconds before she heads to the bedroom Sameen pointed out.

 

When she opens the old wooden door she finds a study and frowns.

 

Returning to the corridor she opens the next room – a restroom – and then the one after that – a large cupboard filled with towels, bed sheets and various detergents. At the end of the hallway, a door opens, letting a stray of light through, which almost reaches Root.

 

“Are you nearly done?” Sameen complains, and Root frowns.

 

“Can’t find the guest room,” she answers truthfully and is rewarded by an exasperated sigh.

 

Sameen walks past her roughly, rushing towards the door she had first indicated. Seemingly surprised by the change she forces her traits to go back to her usual expression as she retraces Root’s steps, searching for the guest room. When she doesn’t find one on the third floor she heads back to the stairs, Root in tow.

 

On the second story Sameen finds an empty room and a painter’s workshop, and doesn’t venture near her mother’s bedroom, although she stares at it for a while, until Root offers to sleep on the couch. In the cupboard on the third floor Root finds clean bed sheets and then heads downstairs again, uncomfortable as she feels Sameen’s eyes locked on her when she leaves.

 

The light in the hall makes the darkness outside even heavier, and Root turns it off as soon as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, letting the Machine guide her through Sameen’s old house.

 

Somehow, Her voice never seemed so close.


	2. Saturday

Root wakes up to the sound of the car door closing and her heart skips a beat. She lifts her head – neck sore – and blinks profusely – massive headache. She yawns as Sameen stares at her.

 

“Morning Shaw,” she smiles.

 

“Couch not good enough for you?” Sameen asks while she puts on her seatbelt. The sound somewhat startles Root, who moves her legs off the seat and leans against the passenger’s backrest.

 

Hands running through her hair and brushing her eyes, she sighs. “Your mother had only a very small two-seat couch in the living room.”

 

Shaw lifts her eyebrows as she turns on the engine and pulls out of the driveway. “And you thought the back of the car would be more comfortable than the floor?”

 

Root pulls down the backrest of the passenger seat and slips into the front as Sameen drives, which grants her a scowl.

 

“What?” she shrugs, readjusting the seat before she pulls down the mirror and takes a look at herself. She winces slightly when she notices the bags under her eyes and a furious red line running down her right cheek, courtesy of the backseat’s leather.

 

When Sameen doesn’t answer, she looks out the window and takes in the view – houses with toys scattered across the front lawn, SUVs in all the driveways. “Where are we going?”

 

“Funeral home,” Sameen answers, and Root doesn’t speak for the five minutes it takes to drive there. When she’s done parking the car, she turns to Root. “I like it black, just a bit of sugar,” she says before she opens the door and steps out, and Root imitates her, confused.

 

“What?” Root asks again, and then understands. “Oh, the coffee.”

 

Sameen locks the doors and then quickly heads inside, leaving Root alone in the parking lot, looking around to see if she can spot a coffee place. In her implant, the Machine offers an address, and Root follows her directions there.

 

When she returns to the funeral home’s parking lot fifteen minutes later, the car isn’t there anymore, and she frowns.

 

 

[...]

 

 

Under a bright electric blue sky, the landscape around Sameen is filled with gravestones and the view doesn’t sit well with her. It weights heavy in her stomach and tightens her throat, and she hides her hands inside the large pockets of her autumn coat.

 

Sameen doesn’t usually mind cemeteries all that much, but on this morning it seems like she shouldn’t be here, and she blinks as the wind dries her eyes forcefully while it rushes through the leaves loudly, as if telling her to go back the way she came from.

 

In her pocket her cell phone buzzes, and without looking, Sameen knows it’s Root.

 

She declines the call.

 

She’s staring at the few cars parked beside hers, seeing no other living soul around, and realises she has no idea where her father is buried exactly. She strongly remembers coming to this cemetery with her mother every year as she was growing up, waiting in silence as her mom talked to the grass and the bones beneath.

 

Sameen closes her eyes for a second, trying to retrace the fading memories of a ten-year-old version of herself, silently walking up to her father’s grave. She breathes down deeply before she looks around again, instinctively picking a small footpath to her left. She isn’t thinking much as she advances, somehow recognizing the surroundings even though she hasn’t been here in a very long time.

 

After a few minutes of trekking absently, she finds herself in front of a tombstone she hasn’t seen in a long time, and her heart skips a beat.

 

It isn’t neat and tidy as she remembers; the grass had grown wildly around the stone, and today there are no flowers, no candles. There is only heavy granite with a name and dates that mean nothing to most people and Sameen frowns.

 

With the sickness, her mother probably didn’t have the time or energy to visit this place often, or maybe she just stopped coming here a while ago. Sameen would have no way of knowing, and it bothers her more than she’d care to admit.

 

She stares, uncertain of what she’s supposed to do now. Uncertain of why she came here in the first place.

 

Her army boots are sinking in the muddy grass and she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. She remembers the nights spent watching over Cole’s parents after his death, the way they cried like they had nothing inside them but grief and pain. It wasn’t unlike the way her aunt crashed into her mother’s body the night of the accident, the two of them clinging to each other like the world was about to end.

 

And in a way, for Sameen, it already had.

 

Sameen watched it all then, that week her father’s sister stayed at home with her mother and herself, that emptiness that brought them from laughter to tears in mere seconds. She watched it over again from afar with Cole’s parents, and for the second time felt nothing but anger and confusion.

 

It was a familiar burning inside, like resistance on a circuit, creating heat.

 

Sameen feels it again as she stares at the name and dates on the granite, retracing the engravings with her eyes. She feels her eyes watering and swallows hard before she leaves, walking fast as if something was following her. In her chest her heart is beating as erratically as if she had been running for an hour and she reaches the car exhausted and panting.

 

Quickly she climbs in and locks the door, taking a second to breathe before she pulls out the keys and turns on the ignition. She takes comfort in the quiet roar of the engine as she leaves the parking lot, absently speeding over the limit.

 

Without really thinking of where she’s heading to, she returns to the funeral home and unsurprisingly finds the parking lot empty. She frowns when she realises she had, somehow, expected Root to be waiting there for her, with two warm cups of coffee and a stupid grin, like she knew Sameen was coming back.

 

She shakes her head lightly before she enters the funeral home for the second time that day. The same employee welcomes her with the same pitiful eyes, and Sameen averts her eyes as she fills in the paperwork, preparing her mother’s burial next to her father’s grave.

 

The heat inside her diminishes with every signature, until she’s left cold and empty.

 

 

[...]

 

 

When Sameen returns home the sun has already set and she stares at the house again, slightly paralyzed. She spent her day running errands and filling paperwork and hated every minute of it – she can’t count the number of people she felt like shooting in the head, in the first three hours alone. With every conversation comes the same look in strangers’ eyes, the same words over and over and none of it means anything to Sameen.

 

At least it kept her away from the house, she thinks as she gazes at the giant, turning the keys in the ignition. She listens as the engine dies down, crickets screeching loudly in its place. Sameen sighs as she reminds herself of everything that she has yet to do, on top of this giant house that she needs to empty out and sell, and she wishes she could simply blow it up and get it over with.

 

Inside the giant, on the first story, she sees one speck of light coming from the kitchen, and remembers that she abandoned Root at the funeral home earlier this morning. She frowns as she leaves the comfort of the car for what she knows will be hell, and walks up the alley.

 

As she enters she is greeted by the smell of chipotle and something sweet, and she follows her nose to the kitchen. There, she finds Root sitting at the table with a cup of tea and frowns.

 

“I made supper,” she states without lifting her eyes from her steaming cup. “It’s cold now though.”

 

Sameen lifts her eyebrows before she moves to the fridge, repressing the urge to snap at Root’s cold tone – mostly because she ditched her earlier, in a city Root’s probably never even heard of before, and Sameen still isn’t sure why.

 

“Also you owe me three dollars for the coffee this morning,” Root added, like she can read Sameen’s thoughts. “You could’ve told me you wanted to go there alone.”

 

Head still neck deep in the refrigerator, Sameen raises her voice. “You said you wouldn’t leave me alone.”

 

She finds the leftovers and prepares herself a plate when Root rises, meeting her on the other side of the kitchen counter.

 

Root scowls; “it didn’t mean babysit you everywhere you go.” She turns around the counter and sits on it, smirking as Sameen examines the food. “I didn’t poison the pork if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 

“I know that,” she defends herself, before shoving the place in the microwave. She thinks about her mother and how she squirmed at the thought of eating pork even though she kept repeating she was an atheist, and presses the start button.

 

“There are plenty other ways to kill you that would be more enjoyable,” she adds before she steps down the counter, reaching for Sameen’s pocket and pulling out the keys to the car. “For the both of us,” she winks.

 

Sameen looks out the window, but with the darkness outside all she sees is Root’s reflection. “You’re sleeping on the backseat again?”

 

Root stops on her way out, but doesn’t turn around. “You’ve got a better solution?”

 

“Take my old bedroom,” Sameen offers as the microwave warns that her supper is ready. She busies herself with the plate as she continues, “I’d rather sleep on the floor anyway.”

 

There’s a slight hesitation before Root drop the keys on the counter.

 

“Thanks,” she replies before she leaves, and Sameen is left listening to her footsteps as she climbs the staircase up to the third level.

 

She hears the familiar creaks, the distant sound of a door closing, and her appetite vanishes.


	3. Sunday

Hair still wet from her post-jogging shower, Shaw heads for the backyard, warm cup of coffee in her hands. Almost floating in her large hoodie, she sits on a bench under the porch and gazes at the trees that have grown since the last time she was here. If the house seems smaller than she remembers, the trees obviously grew tall and strong, and somehow the view is oddly comforting.

 

Around her the neighborhood is slowly waking up and she listens to cars leaving driveways and dogs playfully meeting on the sidewalk. She pictures her mother in the middle of it, how for so many years it had been her life – one that Shaw never really got to know. She doesn’t regret it exactly, knows there was no other way to keep in touch apart from the weekly phone calls, but something is bothering her. As if a distant voice was calling out to her, but Sameen can’t hear if it’s her name they are screaming or not.

 

Despite her muscles still fired up from her earlier run she tries to relax, although her quiet morning is interrupted when Root appears by her side. With her dark grey sweatpants and a white sweater Root looks like she belongs in some lame health product commercial and Shaw scowls.

 

“The Machine says the market is really good right now,” Root sits down, a cup of coffee also in her hands, but she winces at the heat when she sips it. “You should be able to sell quickly, and at a good price.”

 

Shaw shifts on her seat, uncomfortable. “Yeah I don’t care much about that.”

 

Root averts her eyes for a moment before she gazes at Shaw again. “You could give the money away. Your mother made monthly donations to VSF.”

 

“I know that,” Shaw argues angrily. “I don’t need you and the Machine to tell me what to do.”

 

“I was making a suggestion,” Root replies unapologetically. “It seems to be bothering you.” When Shaw only stares, she adds, “the house.”

 

“Nothing’s bothering me,” Shaw replies, yet she hears the lie behind the words. Nothing of this situation sits well with her; that her mother lied about the cancer, that now she has to arrange for her burial and sell the house.

 

Shaw has been around death her whole life, but never in this manner. Never had to deal with the fallout – never had to finish erasing someone’s life entirely, and that’s how she sees it really, sitting on a bench in her mother’s backyard.

 

Soon someone else will live here, probably a family with kids and life will go on, they will make memories here, better souvenirs than Shaw ever had and if she doesn’t like to think of how empty the rooms will be soon, the thought of having them filled again is only worse. She ponders how everything her mother was will disappear over the next few days, and what will remain will only be what Shaw knows of her, and that is so very little, now that she thinks of it.

 

Root is staring at the swing when she admits in a low voice, “I kept it.”

 

Shaw’s confusion spreads on her traits.

 

“The money from the house,” Root adds. “I didn’t need it but I kept it anyway.”

 

Shaw remembers the research she had done on Root a long time ago, how she had lost her mother when she was still a teen, soon after Root had gotten revenge for her friend Hanna’s death.

 

“Of course you didn’t need it, you had all that drug money,” Shaw criticizes, and feels Root flinching beside her.

 

Root stands up. “Stay angry all you want Shaw,” she stares at her furiously. “It’s not gonna change anything.”

 

When Root leaves her alone, Shaw stares at the trees again. She notices how they’ve grown strangely twisted, the knots like countless scars. Some branches need to be cut down, but as she imagines taking care of it, Sameen’s heart skips a beat. She swallows another mouthful of coffee, winces when she realises it has gotten cold, but hesitates on going back inside to get a refill.

 

She pictures herself apologising to Root and feels nauseous, just like every time pitied eyes landed on her over the course of the past few days. Sameen imagines Root looking at her that way now, like she’s some wounded animal clawing at everyone who comes near her and she’d much prefer an angry Root to a compassionate one.

 

When she steps inside the house Sameen doesn’t say a word, but points at the pile of empty boxes she had brought back from the store.

 

“Wanna give me a hand with that?” she asks Root a bit too roughly, eyes landing on anything but her.

 

Root doesn’t answer, yet she grabs a box and starts making her way towards the living room.

 

“You should make more coffee,” Root suggests with a cold voice, and Shaw moves to the kitchen without a word.

 

 

[...]

 

 

Shaw is filling up the eighth box of trinkets when Root stops packing and looks around the admittedly emptier living room.

 

“Give me two blocks of C-4 and a gallon of ethanol and I’ll take care of this,” Root suggests with a smile, her voice warmer than it has been for hours now, but Sameen doesn’t say anything. Root returns to her task, ignoring Sameen’s heavy mood. “You’re no fun,” she complains quietly.

 

After a while, Sameen mutters, “I’d go with gunpowder and gasoline,” and Root smirks. Of course Sameen would go for the lights show and not for just an efficient and quick destruction of the house.

 

Root crosses Sameen’s eyes as she searches the room for the roll of tape and smiles. “Dynamite and kerosene?” she suggests, but before Sameen has any time to answer, someone knocks at the door.

 

Immediately Sameen’s smirk turns into a frown as she reaches for her gun. Root follows her to the hall with worried eyes. Sameen’s hand is clutching to the firearm like she’s ready to fire and Root lands a soft hand on her upper arm, “it’s probably just a neighbor.”

 

It seems to snap Sameen back to reality as she relaxes her trigger finger and blinks. She doesn’t return her gun to the belt of her pants but leaves her arm hanging, the gun hidden by her thigh as she opens the door.

 

The old woman on the other side smiles. “Hi, I’m so sorry to trouble you...”

 

“It’s okay ma’am,” Sameen replies, forcing her voice to be soft, yet not completely succeeding. She struggles to put the gun in the back of her pants and feels Root swooping in behind her, slender fingers discreetly grabbing the weapon from Sameen and hiding it away in one of the large pockets of her vest.

 

“What can we do for you?” Root smiles warmly at the old woman, as if she belonged there. Sameen takes one step back, wordlessly allowing her to entertain the woman in her place.

 

“I just wanted to offer you my condolences,” the stranger speaks, and Sameen represses a sigh as she fakes a smile. She looks down for a second, hesitating for a second before she returns to the living room. Behind her, she feels an awkward silence settling down, but she chooses to ignore it.

 

Root’s voice is still oddly cheerful when she talks again. “That’s very nice,” Sameen sees her shaking the old woman’s hand as Root leans in, “I’m sorry about Sameen; she’s taking it rather hard.”

 

Sameen winces slightly, but she recognizes the lie behind Root’s tone, and somehow it makes the whole thing bearable. She grabs an empty box and returns to work, keeping an ear on the conversation.

 

“I remember when I lost my mother,” the old woman goes on, still holding onto Root’s hands as if she was about to fall. “Moments like these, we think of family.”

 

Root fakes a smile that drops when the woman asks; “but what about you my dear? Is your mother well?”

 

The flash of sadness rushes over Root’s traits too quickly for the old woman to notice, but Sameen catches it and frowns. She forgets about the box and focuses on Root, almost missing the muttered “she never was” that escapes her lips.

 

“I’m sorry? My ears aren’t that great,” the woman explains, leaning in as she waits for Root’s answer and Root nervously toys with her right ear.

 

“I said she’s very well, thank you,” Root speaks up, and the woman smiles. Before she can add or ask anything else, Root interrupts; “we have a lot to do of course,” she suggests, and the old woman takes the hint.

 

“Alright, well tell your partner it was lovely meeting you both,” she adds. “Donya so often talked about her precious Sameen.”

 

Root thanks her again and locks the door behind her before she returns to the living room. There, she offers Sameen her gun back without a word, and they continue to work in silence. The air sits heavy between them, and when Sameen’s eyes meet Root’s again, she thinks she sees water swelling up and hesitates before she decides to ignore it.

 

 

[...]

 

 

Root’s cheeks are reddened and her voice is slurring. “All I’m saying is it was pretty neat,” she concludes, and fills her glass once more.

 

Beside her on the couch, Sameen laughs. “Neat? You call incapacitating the staff of an entire psychiatric institution _neat_?”

 

“No one got hurt,” Root repeats with a pout and when Sameen laughs, she punches her lightly. “Well apart from, you know...”

 

“Having a massive headache, nausea, some memory loss?”

 

Root laughs. “Don’t be a killjoy Shaw, who knows how many kneecaps you’ve blown off in the past three months?” Root mocks, and then seconds later roll her eyes again. “It was a rhetorical question.”

 

Sameen represses the urge to ask and gulps down another mouthful of whiskey. “Sure is quite a way to end therapy,” she agrees, eyes blinking as Root moves closer.

 

“You did therapy too, didn’t you?” Root’s voice is so low Sameen almost doesn’t recognize it.

 

“Way back,” Sameen frowns. “Don’t like shrinks much.”

 

Root smiles and lets her head fall on Sameen’s shoulder, and Sameen blames the alcohol in her blood when she doesn’t push her off.

 

“They made me see one,” Root whispers. “After Hanna.”

 

The name sounds like a ghost and Sameen squirms uncomfortably. “Carter told me about her,” she hesitates. “Carter was–”

 

“I know who Detective Carter was,” Root interrupts, lifting her head to look at Sameen. “I’m sorry for what happened to her.”

 

Sameen lifts her glass. “Wasn’t your fault,” she empties it in one swig and moves away to pick up the bottle from the floor.

 

Root doesn’t answer, only stares at the alcohol swirling in her glass. Sameen fills both glasses before she relaxes on the couch again, and Root sits a bit further apart.

 

“How do you feel about that,” Root starts asking, intrigued. “Losing someone.”

 

She looks like she never waited for an answer more important than this one, and Sameen doesn’t enjoy it one bit. “I don’t feel anything,” she shrugs, yet hears the white lie escaping her lips. She hasn’t been the same since she left the hospital and Sameen doesn’t know quite what to do with that. She relentlessly feels on edge, like something’s going to fall on her any minute now and she doesn’t know where the threat is coming from.

 

“Some people,” Root is smirking now, “when they are confronted with death they want to celebrate life.” She moves closer, voice lowering. “They want to feel alive.”

 

Sameen flinches slightly, her eyes glancing at Root’s opened mouth, her flushed cheeks, and her dilated pupils; inviting.

 

“Some people,” Sameen repeats. “Not me.”

 

Root’s smirk widens. “I wasn’t talking about you,” she moves quickly to sit on Sameen’s lap, facing her with wicked eyes and arms snaking around Sameen’s neck.

 

Sameen doesn’t move, yet finds her hands holding on Root’s thighs, keeping her balanced. When Root leans in she doesn’t pull apart; instead Sameen closes the distance between them. Root’s lips are rough against hers, fingers tugging her hair. Sameen feels a wave of electric current running through her when Root’s tongue insists on getting in and she pulls apart almost painfully.

 

“We’re not doing this,” Sameen says, and Root’s grin weakens.

 

“Why?” she asks, disappointed, fingers running down Sameen’s collarbone.

 

Brushing the wandering hand aside, Sameen frowns. “Because I said so.”

 

“Shaw,” Root’s whisper is confident even though it hardly reaches Sameen’s ear. “You can’t break me.”

 

“How would you know that?” Sameen asks, swallowing hardly when Root leans in again.

 

“Have I ever been wrong?” Root smirks and Sameen breathes in sharply before she allows her lips to meet hers once more. Root relaxes into her, her body melting into Sameen as she kisses her more slowly, savoring the moment. When Root pulls apart seconds later, Sameen blinks with confusion, and then Root rises to her feet, smirking. “Good night, Shaw.”

 

For the second time Sameen listens as Root’s footsteps climb the staircase, yet tonight she is strangely inclined to follow.


	4. Monday

There is a familiar ache in her muscles as she moves up the ladder, her running shoes chipping the paint off the rung as Sameen angles the blade down the branch. She stares as the chainsaw bites into the wood, sending another cloud of sawdust around her. When the branch falls down to the ground, meeting with the others she’s had to cut, Sameen stops the chainsaw before climbing down, a familiar twinge in her knee reminding her of her exhaustion.

 

She went for a run before trimming the trees and her body is starting to protest the relentless efforts. She ignores the discomfort as she places the ladder against another tree and climbs up again. Sameen breathes deeply as she works, trying her best to relax into the pain, and finding the burning inside slowly vanishing with every branch that falls down.

 

Her lungs are on fire when she reaches the ground once more and she takes a step back, wiping the sweat off her forehead. Sameen holds on to the chainsaw with one hand, the other one pulling down the security glasses, and she tries to steady her breathing as she pushes the hair away from her face. In front of her, the trees of the backyard appear somewhat better, despite the cut-down branches that lie at their feet.

 

“You’re up early,” she hears Root’s voice behind her, and thoroughly ignores her. “And so’s the whole neighborhood, thanks to you.”

 

Sameen’s anger flares up inside, inexplicably bothered by Root’s presence, and she blames the chainsaw’s loud noise for not noticing Root sneaking up on her. She turns around with a sigh, only to find a smiling barefoot Root holding out a glass of water.

 

The glass is so cold it retains Root’s fingerprints on its surface when Sameen takes it, and she frowns as Root smiles, gleaming. “The realtor’s going to be here in half an hour,” Root reminds her.

 

In mere seconds, all the anger Sameen had tried to work out seems to come back in a wave, and she feels like crushing the glass in her hand and cutting down the whole damn trees and maybe even punching Root again. She clenches her jaw, shoving the chainsaw in Root’s arms unceremoniously.

 

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Sameen mutters before she rushes towards the house, not sparing another look at either Root or the backyard. She feels like she’s leaving a mess behind and the chainsaw’s loud roar still buzzes in her ear somehow as she makes her way upstairs.

 

Inside the house, the quietness is deafening and even Sameen’s loud and angry footsteps seem to be muted somehow. When she finally reaches the bathroom she turns on the shower right away, finding comfort in the sudden noise of the water trickling down the drain.

 

Under the hot water she relaxes again, her muscles welcoming the soothing warmth. She lets the artificial rain fall down on her for a while, breathing in and out and trying to forget why she is here, and more importantly what’s going to happen in the next few days. When her thoughts return to Root the frustration flares up again and she thinks about the previous night, about those kisses and that crazy urge to follow Root upstairs.

 

That strange feeling inside, like it wouldn’t be that bad; like it would be comforting, somehow.

 

She pushes the thoughts aside as she closes the water and steps out, the cold air hitting her hard. She feels somewhat less angry as she dries herself and puts on fresh clean clothes. Sameen heads back downstairs almost regretfully, expecting to find Root waiting for her with some line about joining her in the shower. When she doesn’t hear anything inside the house she looks out the backyard and sees that Root is still out there, picking up the branches Sameen has cut down, and piling them up in a pit.

 

She’s about to leave to meet her outside when she notices Root’s jacket on the kitchen counter, some envelope sticking out of it. Somehow Sameen can’t stop herself from pulling it out of the pocket, frowning when she notices that it’s a one-way ticket to Prague. In the corner of her eye she sees Root moving again, coming towards the house and somehow Sameen feels the urge to hide the ticket again.

 

When Root enters the house Sameen doesn’t move, and yet Root frowns.

 

“What’s wrong?” Root asks when she takes a note of Sameen’s odd expression, but Sameen only rolls her eyes.

 

There’s a leaf stuck in Root’s curls and Sameen can’t help but reach out and pull it off Root’s hair, all while trying to ignore the warm smile that spreads on Root’s lips. Root moves closer, one hand coming to rest on Sameen’s hip. “Thanks, Shaw,” she whispers as she leans in, and Sameen steps back awkwardly.

 

“I need another cup of coffee,” Sameen says in a rush before she turns around, searching the cupboards for coffee. Behind her Root steps forward, her body pressing itself into Sameen’s as she opens extends her arm to grab the coffee pot from the counter.

 

Root’s voice is dangerously warm in Sameen’s ear as she whispers, “make me one, too.”

 

Sameen only feels cold again when Root shoves the coffee pot into her hands before slipping out of the room. Sameen imagines Root’s smirk and frowns, noticing her erratic heartbeats and uncomfortably dry mouth.

 

 

[...]

 

 

Sameen doesn’t like him one bit, but she clenches her jaw and keeps silent as the realtor, _no really, just call me Larry_ talks about his experience in selling houses, the value of the neighborhood, the problems of the real estate market, and anything that comes through his ridiculously small mind.

 

“I see lots of potential,” Larry states, his eyes roaming the living room from behind his pricey sunglasses. The way he’s been scoping the house ever since he arrived, half an hour ago, makes Sameen itch. She closes her fists again, picturing the possibility of shoving his head into the wall, and behind her, Root shifts closer. “You said it has three stories?”

 

Larry asks as if he hadn’t confirmed that already when he parked his green Jaguar beside Sameen’s rental, and Sameen glances outside, imagining how it would feel like to run her keys down its side and to slash its tires.

 

“Yes, just follow me,” Root suggests cheerfully, yet she scowls at Sameen when their eyes meet, as if she knows what Sameen is thinking.

 

As Root leads Larry up the stairs, Sameen fakes a smile. “I’ll be there in a sec,” she groans more than she speaks, and behind Larry Root is eyeing her like she doesn’t trust her one bit.

 

“Maybe you could make Larry some tea, Sameen,” Root suggests with a honeyed voice, and when Larry agrees wholeheartedly, Sameen grimaces. “Shall we?”

 

Root allows Larry to walk up the stairs in front of her and she follows, but not without sparing Sameen another look. Sameen ignores her as she leaves for the kitchen, somewhat glad for the small respite even though she’s still considering taking her anger out on the Jaguar. She tries to set it aside as she boils the water for the tea, cursing when she can’t find what she’s looking for. It only reminds her of Root’s flirting that morning and she sighs, shaking her head silently.

 

Nothing about this home is comfortable or easy and she wishes she could just be done with it; the funeral, the house, Root. Still, when the kettle whistles she resumes her task of preparing the tea, somewhat surrendering to whatever this is.

 

When she walks up the stairs again she hears Root’s voice coming from the painter’s workshop, warm and teasing. “Oh, I know all about guys like you Larry.”

 

Sameen stops, frowning. Her fingers are starting to hurt from the heated cup in her hand, yet she remains still, listening.

 

“With your sports cars and hundred dollar steaks, vacation plans all over the world,” Root sounds envious, her voice lowering as she speaks, and Sameen feels slightly aroused yet frustrated at the same time.

 

“I do enjoy some comforts,” Larry flirts back and somehow Sameen pictures his hand coming up Root’s arm and she winces.

 

The cup in her hand is almost burning her fingertips and she focuses on that pain, walking up two steps and then stopping again when Root adds, “yeah, you really do,” her voice turning from seductive to mocking. “But how you get those comforts, Larry, that’s what’s interesting to me right now.”

 

Sameen doesn’t hear what Larry says then, but she notices the clear switch in Root’s voice, turning cold. “You’re good with numbers, aren’t you?” she continues, almost threatening him. “You’re good at making money disappear. And then at making it appear again in your bank account.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Larry’s voice reaches Sameen from much closer and she moves to stand against the wall, now keenly aware that she has been spying on that conversation when she could have, at any time, joined them. Still, something keeps her from climbing the next few stairs and entering the workshop.

 

“Yes you do,” Root is both teasing and cold, and the tone makes Sameen smile as she consciously decides to remain where she is, somewhat enjoying the way Root continues to intimidate Larry. “You trick the numbers; get yourself a bigger cut than whatever your contracts agree upon.”

 

Before Larry has time to argue Root goes on, voice turning soft again. “Oh, I’m not mad about that Larry,” she insists on his name so much it turns into a joke. “But you see, I _really_ like my friend.”

 

The small confession twists Sameen’s gut as she holds onto the warm cup of coffee even harder, feeling the burn on her palm as she clenches her jaw.

 

“And if you steal from her Larry,” Root’s tone isn’t cold anymore; it’s plain cutting and harsh. “Even just one dollar,” she insists. “I will find you.”

 

Root lets the threat linger for a few seconds before she playfully adds; “and believe me when I say,” she almost purrs, “none of us wants that.”

 

 

[...]

 

 

They’ve been discussing the finer moments of Sameen’s career at the ISA for an hour now, and Root still can’t stop grinning. Sameen is much more relaxed now that Larry finally left the house with promises of selling it fast. Root and Sameen have returned to the tedious task of packing up every possession of Sameen’s mother, and as they work, the Machine buzzes details about Sameen’s past exploits in Root’s implant, adding details to Sameen’s stories. Somehow Root continuously finds the right question to keep Sameen talking, and Sameen surprisingly doesn’t mind.

 

“To be fair,” Root replies to her with a smile, staring as Sameen carelessly shoves painting supplies into a box, “a big part of your improvisation techniques seems to be blowing things up.”

 

Sameen shrugs, raising her eyes to meet Root’s, “it gets the job done.”

 

Root’s grin diminishes slightly when she notices an odd look spreading on Sameen’s traits. She follows her gaze to the paintings Root has started organising, and notices the one Sameen appears to be focusing on. It pictures a man posing proudly in a soldier’s dress uniform, with a black mustache, and a proud smirk not unlike the one Sameen has sometimes, when she’s just hit a moving target in the distance, or when she outsmarts Harold. Root gazes from the painting to Sameen, hesitant.

 

“That’s my father,” Sameen confirms, and Root nervously holds onto the painting a bit harder, as if she was holding explosives.

 

“He was very handsome,” Root answers in a whisper, but Sameen ignores her as she crosses the room and takes the painting from Root’s hand, lifting it to look at it more closely.

 

“That uniform,” Sameen smiles sadly, her fingers brushing against the painting, following the brush strokes. “He loved wearing it so much.”

 

She doesn’t add that he was buried in it; somehow it feels like it would be better never to speak those words aloud.

 

Root smiles warmly, moving to stand a bit closer to Sameen, her eyes running from her to the portrait. “He does look proud.”

 

Sameen shakes her head and shrugs, as if she’s trying to forget some relentless thought. She feels the familiar burning inside and closes her eyes before she adds the painting into the pile of things to throw out.

 

“Maybe you should take back with you to New York,” Root tries, even though she doesn’t dare move closer now.

 

“What difference would it make?” Sameen angrily replies, looking at Root like she’s expecting an answer.

 

Root spares the portrait another look before she lets her eyes run towards the floor. “I don’t know, Shaw.”

 

An awkward silence fills the room, and this time, the Machine doesn’t offer Root another subject of conversation. She swallows hard, ignoring Sameen’s cold stare as she starts piling art supplies again, forcing herself to stay still when she hears Sameen storming out of the room.

 

 

[...]

 

 

It smells like fallen leaves and the air outside is electric when Sameen joins Root in the backyard, hours later. Crickets sing despite the late hour and she ignores them as she shoves the shoebox and painting she brought with her beside one of the two chairs Root has laid out close to the pit. Sameen is about to sit down when Root hands her a lighter.

 

“Wanna do the honors?” she asks with a gleaming smile and Sameen groans as she picks it up from her hand.

 

In the pit, the branches have been set high like some of strange tent or hideout. It seems so structurally sound that it’s almost a shame to burn it down, but Sameen’s thumb rolls on the lighter nonetheless. She barely gives the small flame a second thought before she leans down, lighting up the newspapers Root has placed at the base of the pit.

 

Sameen stands for a minute, staring as the flames slowly lick up the branches, almost hesitant in the dark of the night. When she’s satisfied the fire won’t extinguish by itself, she sits on the chair beside Root’s, ignoring her curious eyes.

 

Without a word they both look at the fire for a while, the heat spreading up their legs and thighs and making it almost uncomfortable to stay there. The fire cracks, sending sparks towards them, but they both remain perfectly still, barely breathing. Around them, the night makes itself scarce, and they forget that the rest of the neighborhood exists, as if the world limited itself to whatever little light their fire makes.

 

After a while Sameen finally bends down, picking up the box she has brought outside with her. When she opens it, she pulls out a small pile of photographs, immediately crushing one picture into her fist before she throws the ball into the fire unceremoniously. She does the same with another, and another, until Root’s gaze becomes too intense for her to ignore it.

 

“What?” Sameen groans angrily, not sparing her a look.

 

“This is gonna take you a while,” Root smirks, glancing at the shoebox Sameen holds close. In the corner of her eye Sameen sees Root’s face, eyes sparkling with the fire, skin almost burning orange. Sameen sighs as she looks inside the box on her lap, forced to agree with Root, and then resigns herself.

 

When Sameen offers her a pile of photographs, Root’s grin only widens. She takes a look at the top one, and brushes her thumb against it with a soft smile. “Who knew you used to be so adorable?” Root mocks, yet Sameen quickly takes the picture back from Root’s hand.

 

“You’re supposed to burn them, not look at them,” she replies angrily, as if Root had broken some unspoken promise.

 

“Can’t I do both?” Root questions, although she keeps her eyes away from the other photographs still in her hands, staring at Sameen with an odd look, like she doesn’t know what Sameen expects from her.

 

Sameen only sighs and averts her eyes, ignoring that tugging inside that makes her want to stare back. She’s almost startled when Root suddenly stands up, throwing the entire pile of photographs into the fire without sparing it one look.

 

“There,” Root sits back down on her chair, keeping her eyes on the flames that diminished slightly, her nervous hands pulling on the fabric of her pants. “Happy?”

 

Sameen doesn’t reply, but she doesn’t toss any more pictures into the fire either. She remains still as the fire slowly grows back to what it was a few moments before, refusing to be extinguished by the sudden addition of the photographs. In the corner of her eye, Sameen notices the way Root clenches her jaw and twists her fingers, and she represses another sigh.

 

She can’t explain why it bothers her, seeing Root uncomfortable beside her, yet it does, and she feels her frustration turning into anger once again. She looks away at the darkness surrounding them, breathing down deeply until the feeling becomes a ghost, and then she allows herself to look at the shoebox again. Sameen’s fingers explore the piles of photographs on her lap, flipping one and then the other until she finds one in particular.

 

Hesitating only for a second, Sameen offers it to Root silently, and feels a strange relief when Root takes it from her hand, a confused look spread on her face.

 

“It was my seventh birthday,” Sameen turns her eyes towards the fire again as she explains, ignoring the fond way Root stares at the picture of a little Sameen blowing candles on a cake. “My father had just been transferred to Sunny Point so we were in a motel room, making our way there.”

 

Root smiles as she looks at the picture, a fingertip gently tracing the side of little Sameen’s face, and then looks up to the Sameen she actually knows. She bites her lips as she stares for a few seconds, and then something flashes on Root’s face, like she just made a decision. Root crushes the picture into her fist and quickly throws the ball in the fire, eyes still locked inside Sameen’s, her face contrite as if apologising. Sameen doesn’t answer anything, yet she places the box on the ground between their two chairs, and returns her attention to the fire.

 

They continue the destruction of pictures in silence, noticing how the smoke slowly thickens, creating a dark column rushing towards the sky yet constantly being scattered by the wind. Sameen waits until they are nearly done before she talks again.

 

“What did you do with yours?” she asks, and Root frowns. “Pictures, memories... stuff like that.”

 

She doubts Root would keep them around, yet she can’t imagine a teenager Root taking the time to burn down everything from her childhood. She has never actually pondered on Root’s earlier years, yet when she thinks of it now she pictures a kid on the run, not the meticulous hacker she grew into. Sameen tries not to stare as she waits for Root to answer, and when Root finally breathes down deeply, they are both staring at the fire again. “My mom didn’t like taking pictures.”

 

It isn’t really an answer, and even though she’s used to it by now, it bothers Sameen more than she’d care to admit. She pushes; “and your dad?”

 

Root winces slightly, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t have a father.”

 

Sameen waits a beat, carelessly throwing another picture into the fire before she questions again. “Never looked for him?”

 

Root clenches her jaw, her hands crushing photographs even though she’s not throwing them into the fire. “Don’t care much to know who he is,” Root replies, and her lap is slowly being buried under little balls made from Sameen’s childhood pictures, and Sameen frowns.

 

“Maybe the Machine could tell you,” she starts, but the air leaves her lungs in a rush when Root violently turns to look at her, a dark glow in the back of her eyes.

 

“I told you I don’t care,” Root interrupts her with a cold, angry voice Sameen has rarely heard from her. It reminds her of another Root, one that would point her gun at Finch and threaten to kill him because she was desperate enough, and Sameen stops pushing.

 

Averting her eyes, Sameen looks at the silent neighborhood around them, shrouded in darkness, and then at the trees she sawed earlier today. She glances anywhere but at Root or the fire, suddenly uncertain of what she’s supposed to say. She can feel Root’s anger still flowing out of her, and for a moment she wonders if she pushed too far.

 

She realises she’s never really been worried about that with Root before, never tried to think before she talked, unlike she does with Finch often. Unlike she used to, when she called her mother on Fridays. Somehow, she’s always known Root would stick around anyway, no matter what Sameen said or did, but now that Sameen doesn’t mind having her around, she’s starting to think Root might not always be there, and it’s an unsettling thought.

 

Sameen thinks once again of the plane ticket in Root’s jacket, the one she’s wearing right now, and she swallows hard. “I’m sorry,” she says in a voice so low that she doesn’t think Root actually heard her.

 

When Root takes another look at Sameen, her anger is still burning bright. “It’s fine,” she shrugs, although she doesn’t even try to mask her frustration. She waits a minute before she glances at the portrait Sameen has brought along with her, softening her traits a bit when she asks; “do you miss him?”

 

Sameen flinches before she takes the painting and places it right in front of her, staring at her father’s proud look. She frowns, her eyes still running down the brush strokes. Something is burning in her throat and her eyes are drying up, and she blames the smoke of the fire. “I honestly don’t know,” she replies in a low voice.

 

Sameen’s heart skips a beat when she finds herself standing, and she grabs the painting in both of her hands before she carefully places it in the middle of the pit, amongst the tree branches and the little bits of photographs that haven’t burned yet. She sits back down as the fire circles the portrait, flames licking until the paint starts to chip off.

 

The flames slowly run up the painting, progressively disfiguring her father’s traits, and Sameen’s expression quietly twists like she’s in pain. She keeps her eyes locked in her father’s and clenches her jaw, tears gathering at her eyes. Beside her, Root shifts uncomfortably on her seat.

 

“Do you want me to go?” Root whispers quietly, so quietly that she fears Sameen won’t hear her voice over the sound of the crickets and the crackling fire.

 

When Sameen nods, Root feels like she’s just been hit in the gut, and yet leaves all the same, not daring to speak another word.


	5. Tuesday

There are half a dozen people running around the house, picking up furniture and boxes and bringing them outside to the moving truck rented by the hour. Sameen doesn’t mind the chaos all that much; she busies herself by helping them out, relishing in the physical effort and ignoring their constant chatter about how all those donations are going to help their charity, how she’s doing a wonderful thing, how they are so sorry for her loss.

 

Sameen doesn’t hear anything. She picks up the heaviest boxes and runs down the stairs without giving anyone a second look. Sometimes her eyes inadvertently meet Root’s, and her heart stops. There’s something around Root today, like an aura filled with sadness and worry, and Sameen doesn’t know what to do about that. She thinks she’d rather see that mischievous grin Root had on Sunday night, but Sameen somehow doubts she’ll see it again for some time.

 

She can’t imagine what Root sees when she looks at Sameen this morning. The exhaustion from sitting by the fire most of the night, perhaps, or the red eyes from having cried – three small tears, yet Sameen feels like it was an ocean that left her. Or maybe Root notices the way Sameen flinches when she thinks about that plane ticket. Maybe she sees the way Sameen bites the interior of her lip every time she feels like asking when it is, exactly, that Root’s plane will take her out of here.

 

Sometimes her thoughts wander towards the rest of the day, the burial of her mother in just a few hours, and then she imagines coming back to this home alone tonight, and Sameen feels empty and cold.

 

When the volunteers buzzing around the house finally leave with promises of coming back tomorrow for the rest of the stuff piled up in the living room, Sameen doesn’t dare look at how empty every room is. She closes the heavy entrance door and feels Root’s eyes looking at her again, quietly standing in the staircase like she’s waiting for something.

 

“I’m going for a shower,” Sameen almost whispers, averting her eyes when she passes beside Root. She wishes Root would add something like _I could join you_ or _need any help?_ but she doesn’t say anything, just like she hasn’t spoken all morning.

 

There is an awkward silence as Sameen’s footsteps trek up the stairs, and she tries to ignore that heavy weight in her stomach, keeping her eyes on what’s closest to her while trying hard not to notice the large empty house. In the bathroom she quickly showers, not feeling quite the same relief as the previous day. Today every minute of silence feels like time is standing still, and she somehow wishes the volunteers hadn’t worked so fast, that she could still occupy her mind in some other way.

 

When she returns into her old bedroom to gather clean clothes, Root is already there, sitting on the small bed the volunteers left behind, and worrying at her lip.

 

“I... uh,” it isn’t like Root to hesitate, and Sameen feels the familiar frustration building up, yet it extinguishes almost immediately when Root speaks again. “I’ve got you this.”

 

Root stands up, grabbing a pile of neatly folded clothes on the mattress behind her. Sameen only has to look at it a second to know exactly what it is, and her stomach knots uncomfortably.

 

“She told people you were a Marine still,” Root explains, knowing it isn’t necessary to name Sameen’s mother; the weight of Sameen’s silence already says it all. “I thought you’d want...”

 

When Sameen looks away, her jaw clenching and her fists closing, Root flinches.

 

“I’m sorry, I thought –” she starts, but gets cut off when Sameen grabs the uniform from her hands, holding onto it as if it was sacred.

 

Sameen still isn’t looking at her when she mutters a small “thanks,” voice so low it almost doesn’t reach Root’s ears. This time, Root doesn’t ask before she leaves, but Sameen feels the same thing as when she did, last night – a strange mixture of relief and regret.

 

She sits on the bed for a moment, her fingers brushing against the rough fabric of the blue dress coat, noticing the decorations pinned onto it. She smiles as she recognizes them all – marksmanship badges and ribbons indicating the medals she won – all the honors she received while she was a Marine. Sameen knows the Machine probably gave Root all the information from her file, and yet she thinks only of Root, sitting with the blue coat in her hands, patiently pinning in place every one of them. She thinks of how Root knew she’d prefer to wear this one instead of the more common dress uniform with medals, because Sameen has never been as proud of her honors as she was of her marksmanship badges.

 

As Sameen puts on the dark blue pants and the white shirt she is reminded of the many times she wore it before, so many years ago. In front of her an old mirror sends her back an older version of that Marine, scarred in places she wasn’t scarred then, and more tired, too. She remembers a younger version of herself, a Captain filled with rage, because it had been her second choice to become one, and she thought she deserved better. Yet as a Marine she learned how to kill instead of saving lives, and made good use of that constant burning inside.

 

She’s surprised not to feel that anger now; as she buttons up the blue coat she feels only calm, a strange peace settling in, as if the suit made her different somehow.

 

When she’s done tying her hair and then, the black dress shoes, Sameen adds the white cap and gloves, and then takes another peak in the mirror. For a second she remembers her father’s portrait, the flames licking his face, and she flinches.

 

Taking a deep breath, Sameen leaves the room without another look at the mirror, knowing it is already time to leave. Her stomach knots again, yet it vanishes as she notices the sharp breath Root takes in when she sees Sameen in her USMC uniform.

 

Warmth spreads inside as she takes in Root’s black dress, her hair tied up, and her eyes gleaming again.

 

 

[...]

 

 

At the funeral home, Sameen is rigid beside her mother’s coffin, Root standing beside her without a word.

 

This time, Sameen recognises all too well the woman lying there – more than she did at the hospital anyway – and she wonders how make-up can do that to a person; make them look more alive than they ever will be. She’s aware that maybe this isn’t something she is supposed to be thinking of, but she lets the train of thoughts go on anyway. One after the other, neighbors and friends and obscure family members come to her, offering their condolences with that same grim face and that same grave voice. To each of them Sameen offers a fake smile before shaking their hands, and then they finally leave.

 

The uniform makes it all the more bearable, she thinks, but that may be also because Root stands just beside her, now and then leaning down to whisper some comment about a woman’s horrible perfume or an old man’s ugly wig. Sometimes, she places a hand on Sameen’s arm as she moves closer, especially when someone seems to be bothering Sameen more than the others, and then Root adds some embarrassing information about them that the Machine just buzzed in her ear.

 

Sameen thinks it isn’t a very efficient way of using an all-powerful A.I., but she’s not about to complain.

 

As Root is just finishing up some story about suspicious transactions on a preacher’s credit card, one short man comes up to Sameen, his disapproving eyes staring at Root harshly. He offers his heartless sympathies and a sloppy handshake before turning towards Root, evidently the object of his interest.

 

“And you are?” he asks as if she wasn’t supposed to be there, and yet extends his arm to shake her hand.

 

“She’s with me,” Shaw replies angrily, staring him down. He had mentioned being a friend of her mother’s, but she could never imagine her mom ever spending time with a man like that – rude and filled with obvious disdain.

 

Root flashes him a fake smile nonetheless and shakes his hand. “Sam Groves,” she offers her name and Sameen’s stomach knots furiously at the sound. Many times she has heard Finch using Root’s old name, but it never made her feel like she does now. Like it’s something private that Root shouldn’t be forced to reveal.

 

“Two Sams... it’s like you’re sisters,” the man replies with a disapproving smile, and Sameen struggles with her desire to knock him out.

 

“Not really, no,” Root answers, smile dropping. She stares at him coldly until he finally leaves, and Sameen lets go of a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

 

She turns her eyes towards the crowd then, although she steps back a bit, moving to stand closer to Root. Sameen is wondering if she should say something when Root whispers in her ear; “your boys are working a number.”

 

Sameen spins around, frowning, only to avert her eyes when she notices how close Root’s face actually is.

 

“Don’t worry, it’s an easy one. They received it this morning and are almost done already,” Root continues, although Sameen doesn’t seem to be listening. Gazing at the people assembled in the funeral home, Sameen isn’t sure it would change anything, whether Reese and Finch were here or not. She pictures them standing in a corner, awkward and quiet, and imagines it would only fuel her anger to see them, speechless and unable to help.

 

Again she’s reminded of that void inside her – today there is no heated burning threatening to take her whole, no fire licking her insides and begging to get out. She’s grateful that Reese and Finch aren’t around to see her like this, hesitant and empty, and doesn’t know why it doesn’t bother her that Root is there with her.

 

“They sent flowers,” Root slips her a little white card with Finch’s signature on it.

 

“You’re not supposed to take these,” Sameen scowls with a low voice, and yet reads it all the same; some poetry line about death, with some words about not walking in the dark alone. Sameen bites her inner lip before she shoves the card into Root’s. “Put it back,” she orders, but as soon as Root moves, Sameen grabs her arm, stopping her. Her gloved hand runs down Root’s forearm and squeezes her palm. “Discreetly, please,” she adds with a commandeering tone, and Root smiles.

 

“You know me,” Root warms up. “Quiet as a mouse.”

 

She winks and Sameen feels the sudden urge to question her about the plane ticket then, but she worries she would ask Root to stay – worries of what it would mean. Thankfully an old couple comes by to offer their sympathies and she lets go of Root to shake their hands. When they give her flowers she grabs the bouquet with a smile and turns to Root.

 

“Sam,” Sameen hesitates, and Root looks at her like she’s both pleased and terrified. “Could you put these with the others?”

 

As she replaces Finch’s card with its bouquet and adds the new flowers to the lot, Root can’t help but feel her heart pumping hard, her ears burning with the sound of her old name, so oddly soft in Sameen’s mouth.

 

 

[...]

 

 

The cemetery isn’t as cold and quiet as when she came here on Saturday, yet Sameen recognises all too well the trail leading to her father’s grave – her parents’, she corrects herself. The grass has been cut and there is giant hole where there was nothing but a patch of green before, and Sameen doesn’t feel anything when she looks at it. She watches silently as they lower her mother’s coffin and somehow she knows this is the last time she ever steps foot here.

 

She wonders if her mother knew that too; if she didn’t tell Sameen about the cancer because she understood Sameen wouldn’t visit until it was too late. That she wouldn’t have come even if her mother had asked her to, because she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to look more than once at her mother dying, and her being powerless about it; that image engraved forever in her mind, beside the one of her father’s blood in the middle of the car debris.

 

Sameen is somewhat thankful for her mother’s white lies now that they are shoving dirt over her coffin.

 

Most people have already left, yet the cemetery feels oddly loud as Sameen keeps her eyes on the opened grave, Root standing still beside her like a ghost in a black dress. Sameen takes a deep breath and doesn’t look at Root when she asks in a low voice, “do you need me to drive you to the airport?”

 

A few seconds of silence pass and without awaiting for an answer Sameen leaves her parents’ grave, walking down the trail with Root tagging along behind. Because she keeps averting her eyes, Sameen misses the way Root looks at her, pained and confused.

 

“You want me to leave?” Root asks, her voice hesitant, yet Sameen doesn’t answer; she only walks faster, fists closed.

 

As they return towards the parking Root watches the anger slipping back into Sameen; her muscles tightening, her eyes staring down everything and everyone but Root.

 

When they enter the car without a word Root expects the worse, but Sameen holds onto the wheel with whitening knuckles and still doesn’t look at her.

 

 “Look, everything’s done,” Sameen replies, her frustration hanging back at the words, like she’s trying not to say something she could regret. “Aren’t you going to Prague or something?

 

Root frowns, but her eyes strangely light up. She shifts on her seat to look more directly at Sameen with an intrigued smile. “You went through my things?”

 

Sameen’s annoyance flares up, her cheeks oddly reddening. “No, I didn’t.”

 

Root smiles, turning to look at what Sameen is staring at, outside. When she doesn’t find it she turns her head to the side, her eyes meeting Sameen’s. “You went through my things,” she repeats as if that meant something.

 

Sameen shakes her head and starts the engine, suddenly more uncomfortable than angry. “It was falling out of your jacket,” she mutters, quickly driving out of the parking lot even though she still doesn’t know where she’s going.

 

“And you pulled it out and looked at it,” Root’s grin is only widening. “That’s an invasion of privacy, Sameen,” she’s gleaming.

 

“It’s my job to know things,” Sameen argues, trying to go back to anger even though Root’s cheerfulness is spreading comforting warmth through her chest.

 

When she stops at a red light, Root offers in a soft voice, “it’s for tomorrow.” She’s looking out the window when she adds, “but I can leave now if you want me to go.”

 

Sameen feels a blow to her stomach, so hard and painful that when the light turns green she almost misses it. She drives down the road without really knowing where she’s going, ignoring the sun slowly coming down on the town. She knows she should be heading either towards the home or the airport, but she doesn’t want to think of how empty both options make her feel.

 

“I could use a drink,” Sameen states, keeping her eyes off Root.

 

“Yeah, me too,” Root answers with a low voice.

 

Sameen parks the car beside the first bar they pass by down the road, eager to drown all those strange feelings she’s been having lately, yet Root pulls on her uniform before she can step out of her car.

 

“A bit overdressed, aren’t you?” she smiles softly before she grabs Sameen’s hand into hers, slowly pulling at the gloves’ fingers, patiently revealing the warm skin underneath. Sameen only stares as she does so, wondering where it comes from, this strange impulse to kiss or punch Root, this longing to do both at the same time. When Root reaches for her other hand Sameen finally reacts, taking the glove off herself as well as her white cap, and placing them both on the backseat.

 

“Better?” Sameen asks almost defiantly.

 

“Much better,” Root winks.

 

 

[...]

 

 

As Sameen’s body pulses nicely with the buzz of alcohol, Root’s clear laughter doesn’t sound as annoying as it usually does. Instead it resonates like a pleasant wave, making Sameen even warmer, cheeks reddened as she meets Root’s eyes. She drinks another sip of her beer, letting the cheesy music and the deafening noise of loud conversations fill her ears. They haven’t really talked; downing drinks after drinks and sharing looks every now and then. From time to time Root leans in and tells her a story about one stranger or another, and Sameen doesn’t mind the distraction. She barely listens, eyes fixated on Root’s lips, and struggling more and more to remember why she had stopped herself that Sunday night.

 

Wondering more and more why she shouldn’t indulge herself, just a bit.

 

She’s vaguely aware of some movements on her right, but she turns to attention when Root lifts up her eyes.

 

“Hey, what’s your name?” one of the guys asks, his eyes crudely roaming Root’s body.

 

Sameen’s anger flares up, but Root’s hand settles on her thigh, as if telling her that she can handle this. Beside her, Sameen keeps her mouth shut, but she’s quickly sobering up.

 

“Why do you want to know?” Root replies with a cold voice, leaning back on her seat. She’s clearly unimpressed, boldly staring him down.

 

The man steps closer to her and Sameen keeps her eyes on him, keenly aware of the two muscular guys following him. His friends, she guesses, and as she pictures taking the three of them down she finds herself smirking. She swallows hard, turning the beer glass between a finger and a thumb, waiting.

 

He smiles condescendingly, “don’t be like that, girl.” The man places the tip of his boot on the edge of the seat, blocking Root’s side of the booth. “I just wanna know your name,” he insists with a sharp smile, white teeth almost glowing.

 

“Root,” she answers with a cheeky look in her eyes. Sameen’s heart starts pounding hard in her chest as she notices the way the man’s smile drops, clearly unsatisfied by Root’s response.

 

The man laughs loudly, vulgar and rude. “What kind of a shitty ass name is that?” he mocks her, leaning down towards her. Sameen closes her fist again, but the hand on her thigh squeezes lightly, and she doesn’t move. “That’s not a real name.”

 

“It’s her name,” Sameen stands up then, staring down the guy, forcing him to step back.

 

“Hey, not searching for trouble,” he raises his hands, but she sees the arrogance lurking beneath the gesture. “I’m just saying, your friend’s a liar.”

 

He smirks and stares at her as if daring her to do something about it, and Sameen smiles.

 

 “I really think you want to leave us alone,” she warns, and notices Root slipping out of the booth.

 

Sameen takes one look at Root then, somewhat expecting her to be the voice of reason, to tell her to calm down, yet she sees in Root’s eyes only eagerness and curiosity.

 

“Well she is a liar,” the guy argues, turning towards Root. “Show me your ID, huh?”

 

The man quickly steps forward, his hand reaching for Root’s pocket as if he was going to conduct a search. His fingers barely make it to her thigh that already Sameen has his hand inside hers, twisting it painfully. He cries out loudly and his two friends move closer, but Sameen glares at them as she tightens her hold on the guy, who falls on his knees, begging her to let him go. His friends stop and she pushes him back, barely noticing that the whole bar is now staring at them.

 

“That bitch broke my wrist,” he yells as he clutches at his wounded articulation, yet his two friends remain where they are, looking at Sameen nervously.

 

“It’s just sprained,” Sameen replies, smirking. “Now boys, we came here to drink in peace,” she starts saying, but behind them she sees the barman staring at her and shaking his head.

 

He moves from behind the bar and walks over, angry. “All five of you,” he points at them, “out. Now, or I’m calling the police.”

 

The three guys leave first, Sameen rolling her eyes when the one she hurt shoots her a threatening look. She walks over to the bar and offers to pay her tab, ignoring the way the clients move aside, leaving a respectful distance between them and her. Root follows her without a word, still somehow laughing, and Sameen scowls at her.

 

With her bright eyes and reddened cheeks, Root seems more alive and healthy than she has been for a while and Sameen would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy it a bit. Root looks out the window at the guys getting into a taxi, so distracted she doesn’t notice the way Sameen gazes at her. There’s this strange pull inside her again and Sameen doesn’t fight it this time; she lets her hand find Root’s waist, a thumb drawing small circles over the fabric of her black dress. Root turns around then, surprised and pleased.

 

Yet as they exit the bar, some thought keeps tugging at the back of Sameen’s mind, and just before they reach the car she finally finds the words she’s looking for.

 

“Why didn’t you just tell them your name was Sam Groves?” Sameen asks in the dead of the night, not looking at Root.

 

Root sighs, turning to lean with her back against the car. She pulls Sameen closer, her hands running on the rough fabric of the uniform’s coat as Sameen holds onto her waist.

 

“Because, Shaw,” she starts, her fingers tugging at the belt, her eyes on the golden buttons, “sometimes I don’t mind being Sam Groves, but most times,” she smiles like it’s a secret, fingers slowly unbuttoning Sameen’s coat, “I prefer to be Root.”

 

One of Sameen’s hands rises to the back of Root’s exposed neck, pulling her closer before she bites Root’s lower lip. She quickly soothes it with her tongue as Root melts against her, hands rushing under the opened coat and tugging at the white shirt underneath. Sameen smirks into the kiss before she moves to Root’s ear, sucking at the skin just under before she pulls apart slighly.

 

Her voice is warm as she whispers, “and what should I call you now?”

 

Before Root replies Sameen starts sucking again, harder, blood gathering under the reddening skin and Root hisses at the soft pain it gives her.

 

“Right now,” she replies between shallow breaths, one hand pulling on Sameen’s hair to urge her on, “I don’t really care about that.”

 

Sameen’s nose runs down Root’s jaw as she slowly returns to kiss Root’s lips, groaning when Root bites her hard enough to draw blood. Against Root’s mouth Sameen breathes heavily, a smirk coming up her face. “Come on Groves, get in the car,” she orders with a low voice and Root gasps when Sameen’s fingers toy with the end of her dress.

 

Grinning, Root pulls apart slightly, only instead of moving towards the passenger door as Sameen expects her too, she extends her hand and opens the back seat’s door.

 

“Yes ma’am,” she replies with a wicked smile before she slips inside, leaving the door opened behind her.

 

Sameen hesitates only a brief moment before she follows Root in. The warmth inside her chest only spread as she takes in the sight of Root, clothes dishevelled and messy hair, her black vest thrown to the side. Root barely waits for Sameen to close the door before pulling on her opened coat, dragging her close and gasping when Sameen’s hand digs into Root’s side. Licking her lips with expectation, Root runs an index down the helix of Sameen’s ear, thumb and finger pinching on the earlobe and pulling her down. Sameen allows her to bring her close, a grin on Root’s lips as Sameen kisses her.

 

While Sameen’s tongue explores her mouth, Root moves on the seat, sneaking under Sameen even as she struggles to take the dark blue coat off. Sameen groans before she towers over Root, throwing it on front seat in one swift movement. Root’s smirk widens when Sameen leans down again, licking and biting down Root’s neck as Root’s hands wanders on her chest, pulling the white shirt out of her pants.

 

“Shaw,” Root whispers almost painfully, and a worried Sameen looks up as she feels fingers tightening around her thigh. “Could you move?”

 

She realises her knee is digging into Root’s leg and shifts awkwardly, coming to rest between Root’s legs, pushing up Root’s dress so she can fit in. Root moans quietly as she pulls Sameen down, Sameen’s waist absently grinding down on Root’s centre. Root’s hands are groping her ass and pushing her harder against her, and Sameen is about to protest when she hears a knock on the window.

 

“Alright lovebirds that’s enough,” a man’s voice says loudly, and Sameen turns around to tell the guy off when she notices his uniform.

 

She sighs, letting her forehead fall on Root’s shoulder for a second. “The Machine couldn’t warn you about this?” Sameen groans before she opens the door and slips out.

 

“I wasn’t really listening,” Root admits with a sheepish smile, dutifully following her out of the car.

 

As Root readjusts her dress and Sameen, her shirt, the police officer stares at them angrily, evidently not amused. “I got a call for a disturbance,” he tells them bluntly, and then seems to take a note of Sameen’s clothes. He spares one look inside the car and sees the dark blue coat thrown across the passenger seat.

 

He steps closer and leans down to grab the coat and gives it back to Sameen. “You’re a Marine?” he asks roughly. Before she can answer, he continues; “kind of disgracing the uniform right now, don’t you think?”

 

Sameen clenches her jaw, but stands still, almost in a soldier’s stance. She doesn’t reply; he is kind of right anyway. She ignores Root’s quiet laughter beside her, leaning on the car without a care in the world.

 

“Look, seeing the service you’re doing for your country,” the man starts, his voice slowly warming up before he sighs. “I’m gonna let this one slide.”

 

“Thank you Officer,” Sameen politely replies, thoroughly ignoring Root’s sheepish grin.

 

“Give me your keys,” he asks, and she quickly drops her hand inside her pocket, grabbing the keys and offering them to him. He throws them inside the car and closes the door, testing each door to make sure they are locked out of the vehicle. “Take a taxi home,” he suggests before he leaves, slowly making his way back to his patrol car.

 

When he is out of earshot, Sameen frowns and turns to Root. “That’s entirely your fault, you know.”

 

Root pulls on Sameen’s sleeve. “I know,” she smirks, “I’m sorry.”

 

Sameen rolls her eyes. “You’re not sorry.”

 

“I’m really not,” Root laughs, still leaning on the car, trying to pull Sameen closer. “Come on Shaw,” she insists, but Sameen only stares at the back seat and doesn’t say anything. “It’s not that bad.”

 

“My wallet’s in the car,” Sameen argues with a groan.

 

Root grins. “I could break in there,” she suggests, but Sameen scowls.

 

“He’s right, I shouldn’t be driving,” Sameen tells her, averting her eyes. “We drank too much.”

 

“It’s not that far, we could just walk,” Root replies, trying to ignore what she fears will come out of Sameen’s mouth next. That they were making a mistake; that it’s good they were interrupted. She saunters away and doesn’t look behind her, knowing that Sameen is following her either way.

 

They’ve been walking for a few minutes when Root starts shivering, her sleeveless black dress not a match for the autumn’s night. Sameen doesn’t say a word as she hands her the blue coat or her uniform, wrapping it around Root’s shoulders. Root looks at her then, but Sameen’s traits are hard to see in the darkness surrounding them, and she looks only severe, like she has been most of the day.

 

Root doesn’t know if it’s because of the silhouette of the house slowly coming up on the horizon or because Sameen regrets what happened in the parking lot, and she lacks the courage to ask.

 

When they finally reach the three-story house, with its empty rooms and similar driveway, Sameen averts her eyes. She goes straight for the backyard, Root on her tail, and reaches a window on the far end. She pushes against a familiar weakness in the windowsill and manages to jam it open.

 

“Look who’s used to coming in through the back door,” Root jokes, and Sameen rolls her eyes before she slips inside.

 

There’s an awkward feeling in Sameen’s gut like she’s not supposed to be here, and coming back to her mother’s empty home only to enter like a thief surely doesn’t help. She tries to ignore the vacant space, eagerly waiting for Root to follow her in, and when Root finally does Sameen pulls on the blue coat and roughly crashes her lips against hers.

 

Root’s hands settle on her waist, fingers digging so hard Sameen knows she’s going to have little bruises there, a constellation just above her hips and she groans. She pushes Root down the corridor, her body hitting the walls every now and then as Root roughly takes off Sameen’s white shirt, sending a couple of buttons across the air.

 

When they reach the stairs Root almost falls back but Sameen keeps her up, and Root grins as she snakes her hands around Sameen’s neck. She’s biting more than she’s kissing and Sameen leans into her, unzipping her dress and letting it pool at her feet before they continue up the stairs. They trek slowly along the way to Sameen’s old bedroom, carelessly letting the rest of their clothes fall along the way.

 

As Root sits on the edge of the bed, pulling her down, Sameen pauses slightly. Root’s hands knead and beg and for a second she considers leaving now, but it fades when she notices the way Root suddenly worries at her lip, the way her eyes run from Sameen to the open door, as if she could read Sameen’s thoughts.

 

Sameen allows herself to fall on Root then, holding herself up on one arm as the other runs down Root’s skin, caressing and pinching all the same. Under her, Root moves and curls with every one of her movements and Sameen smiles in the crook of her neck before she bites down lightly, her fingers teasing until Root quietly moans.

 

She’s about to press her fingers inside when Root laughs shortly, and Sameen stops to look at her, confused.

 

“She’s worried about my heart rate,” Root whispers.

 

Rolling her eyes, Sameen groans. “Sure, _that_ you listen to.”

 

As Root presses Sameen’s hand against her labia and grinds slowly, grinning like an idiot, Sameen finally complies. A smile coming on Sameen’s face nonetheless when Root’s eyes slam shot, her mouth letting go of a long breath and she starts moving in rhythm with Sameen’s fingers.

 

Root’s fingers scratch at Sameen’s back as she moves, drawing her close and urging her on. She teases Sameen now and then, pulling out little gasps out of her and she smirks until Sameen adds another finger. She bites her lip then, hips swaying more rapidly and when Sameen moves apart to sit between her legs, a second hand joining the first Root cries out her name, feeling the orgasm boiling inside.

 

She holds on as long as she can, and finally when she feels she won’t be able to contain it anymore, she lifts herself completely, buying herself a bit more time and allowing her to face Sameen. She wraps her arms around Sameen’s neck and brings their foreheads together. Root feels Sameen’s fingers stiffening inside her and the motions of her other hand slowing down.

 

“I’m almost there”, Root whispers before she runs her hand down Sameen’s stomach, her fingers quickly finding Sameen’s labia. Sameen doesn’t say anything; she kisses Root and returns to the same motion. Root takes it for allowance and so, she presses two fingers inside Sameen, who closes her eyes, yet flashes a smile. Root is grinning too when she brings her head to Sameen’s neck, where she kisses and bites all the same until she can’t anymore. She takes her fingers out of Sameen, hearing a grunt of protest before she places her hand on Sameen’s thigh, holding on so hard she knows she will leave bruises. “Now”, she warns, pressing her face deeper into Sameen as she comes hard. Inside her, the fingers continue their motion for a few seconds as she rides out her orgasm.

 

After Root comes, they remain still for a few seconds. Root’s nose caresses Sameen’s shoulder and she can feel Root’s warm breath running down her skin. Finally, Root’s hand runs up Sameen’s thigh and returns to her labia. Before Sameen can say anything, Root covers her mouth with hers, kissing her hard as she returns her fingers inside Sameen.

 

It doesn’t take long for Sameen to come against her hand, and Root feels the tension in Sameen’s muscles coming and leaving, but apart from that, Sameen doesn’t make any sounds. Root smiles then, thinking that Sameen comes as stealthily as she would sneak up on a mark.

 

Exhausted, Root allows herself to fall down on the mattress, pulling Sameen to lie onto her. When both of their breathing has returned to normal, Sameen moves to get up the bed, yet Root’s hand pulls on her arm.

 

“Don’t leave,” she whispers, already half-asleep.

 

“I don’t really do that kind of stuff,” Sameen explains, suddenly so very tired and heavy.

 

Root ignores her protest, tugging at her forearm. “Shut up,” she grins. “Everybody sleeps.”

 

Sameen doesn’t know why she allows Root to drag her back beside her, to pull the sheets over her naked body. She doesn’t understand why she doesn’t push Root away when she moves beside her, not really cuddling but standing far too close to be comfortable.

 

Root’s hair is tickling Sameen’s shoulder when she falls asleep, worn out and inebriated and calm.


	6. Wednesday

There’s a bitter taste in the back of her mouth and she shivers again, cold and exhausted. Root’s head is pounding and she’s grateful that the Machine remains quiet in her ear. She opens her eyes and blinks when the sunlight hurts her, finding the bed beside her empty, and the room’s door closed. Everything else seems blurry and spinning and she shuts her eyes again, confused while she remembers the previous night; Sameen’s grin as she unzipped her dress, the feeling of her fingers curling within her, how warm and soft her shoulder felt as Root came, head pressed against it.

 

She breathes down deeply, grinning as she moves to sit on the edge of the bed. When she does, gravity rushes down on her like a bucket of cold water and she feels the air emptying her lungs rapidly, the room spinning before her.

 

Nausea burns in her throat and she quickly rushes to the door, not bothering with clothes as she runs to the bathroom. She barely has time to kneel in front of the toilet that already her stomach is emptying itself and she struggles to regain her breath, tears edging at the corner of her eyes. Once she’s done throwing up she flushes the toilet and sits back, welcoming the cold of the tub’s porcelain. She leans against it, folding her legs up against her and wrapping her arms around them, closing her eyes and enjoying the difference between the cool surface on her back and the warmth of her cocooned body.

 

She doesn’t need to open her eyelids to know that Sameen just walked in, yet she does anyway, taking in the sight of her tank top and sweatpants, her hair neatly tied up. Root smiles fondly even though Sameen is frowning while she closes the door shut behind her.

 

“Couldn’t put some clothes on?” Sameen complains, the doorknob still in her hand, annoyance clear in her tone.

 

Root wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, ignoring Sameen’s bad mood.

 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before, Shaw,” she smirks, but her nausea returns and she closes her eyes again, moving the hair from her neck and massaging her nape slowly, trying to breathe more calmly.

 

“You don’t drink much, do you?” Sameen asks almost against her will, leaning against the door and crossing her arms in front of her.

 

Root flinches, averting her eyes. “She used to drink,” she answers in a low voice. “My mother,” she specifies before she sighs, running a hand though her hair. When Sameen doesn’t say anything Root lifts up her gaze and notices an odd look on her face, but it disappears in a flash.

 

Still standing at the door, Sameen doesn’t move an inch. “It’s ten,” she says as if that would explain either her silence of her frustration. When Root only winces she adds; “the volunteers arrived at nine.”

 

“Oh,” Root simply whispers, confused.

 

Sameen sighs, turning the doorknob. “You’ll have to put on some clothes.”

 

When she hears the door closing behind Sameen Root pushes herself off the floor, the effort making her nauseous again. She throws cold water on her face, and in the mirror she sees the dark circles under her eyes and frowns. She downs some water to erase the bitter taste from her mouth and breathes down deeply, cursing the drinks of the previous night.

 

The bathroom door opens again and Root grins, quickly moving to press Sameen against the closed door, thoroughly ignoring the clothes she’s handing her.

 

“Thank you,” Root lets her hands fall to Sameen’s waist, leaning in, already revelling in Sameen’s warmth.

 

When Sameen flinches and averts her eyes, Root pulls apart, a worried look twisting her features. “Better clean your teeth first,” Sameen groans, pushing Root off of her and rudely shoving the clothes in her hands.

 

Sameen doesn’t say another word before she slips out of the bathroom and for a moment Root only blinks, confused. Another shiver runs through her and she starts absently putting on the clothes, moving slowly as the nausea threatens to return. She brushes her teeth and ties up her hair tightly, the constant pulling on her scalp soothing the painful throbbing of her head.

 

When she finally leaves the silence of the restroom, Root finds Sameen fussing with the sheets of the bed in her old bedroom. She walks in just as Sameen is throwing the bedding into a large garbage bag and her heart inexplicably compresses in her chest. She glances at Sameen and notices the way she clenches her jaw every time her eyes peek at Root, and the ache only deepens.

 

“Your stuff’s right there,” Sameen points towards Root’s opened bag, clothes carelessly dropped on it and Root doesn’t say anything. She’s biting her inner lip, not really sure what Sameen is expecting of her, of what she’s supposed to do or say.

 

“Thanks,” she finally replies in a whisper, but Sameen is already out of the door.

 

Root frowns as she busies herself, putting her clothes back into her bag and trying to forget about Sameen’s angry mood. She blames the emptiness of the house, the fact that she didn’t wake up in time to help her with the volunteers. The Machine buzzes reassurances in her ear about Reese and Finch’s number but Root doesn’t really listen. She looks out the window in time to watch as the bed is being loaded in the truck, her heart unexpectedly heavy.

 

In the driveway Sameen is talking to a volunteer, faking a smile and Root suddenly feels exhausted, knees weakened like she’s going to pass out. She takes a deep breath and looks away, wondering where she stands, with Sameen. Where she should go from here.

 

The truck leaves the driveway quietly and the front door closes in one loud thump, prompting Root to head downstairs, yet she hesitates. Leaning on the windowsill she throws one look at the car still parked in the driveway. With the way the sun shines down on the frame Root can’t see inside, although she can’t help but wonder if Sameen is sitting in there, ready to leave her behind.

 

Root shivers slightly at the thought, trying to convince herself that Sameen is probably downstairs and that she should join her now. She still waits a minute or two, and when the car doesn’t start she guesses Sameen isn’t in it, and finally heads downstairs. Her heart is pounding louder with every empty room she finds, until Root notices her sitting in the backyard, sipping the end of a to-go cup of coffee.

 

“You could have woken me up,” Root sits beside Sameen, looking at the trees and carefully slowing down her arrhythmic breathing. “I could have helped.”

 

Sameen doesn’t spare her a look. “Somehow I don’t think you would’ve been up to it.”

 

Root swallows hard, ignoring the knot tightening in her stomach. “I would have helped anyway.”

 

“Well I didn’t need your help,” Sameen replies angrily, and Root hears it in her voice; that quiet reproach like she’s not only referring to this morning’s tasks but to the whole weekend as well.

 

A heavy silence falls between them as Root quietly struggles to breathe, the nausea suddenly burning at her throat and she looks away.

 

“Did you bring me back some coffee?” Root asks, trying to ignore the troubling feeling sinking inside her, like lead in her gut. That voice telling her she isn’t welcomed anymore. That Sameen wants her to leave now.

 

“No,” Sameen groans, and Root doesn’t dare say anything else. She’s considering returning inside when, after a minute or two, Sameen adds in a quiet voice; “I went to get the car.”

 

Root spares her a look, but Sameen is still staring at the trees at the end of the backyard, thoroughly ignoring her. “Oh?”

 

There’s another long silence until Root finally dares speak the words she’s been thinking of since Sameen found her throwing up in the bathroom. “Are you mad about what happened last night?”

 

Eyes turning cold and fists closing, Sameen doesn’t answer. She’s toying with the to-go cup and ignoring Root, yet when she sighs and moves to get up, Sameen puts a hand on Root’s thigh.

 

“Look, I...” Sameen hesitates, and she feels Root’s annoyance flaring up as she closes her mouth again, not finding the words.

 

“What?” Root snaps as she stands up. “What is it you want to say, Sameen? That it wasn’t a good idea? That you weren’t thinking properly? That you had too much to drink?”

 

Sameen breathes down deeply, trying to ignore the anger burning inside, and failing. “If you shut up for a minute maybe I could tell you,” she replies angrily.

 

“Well you’ve been silent for quite some time now,” Root argues, crossing her arms. For a second she glances at the door, like she’s considering leaving, yet she stays in place. “What am I supposed to think?”

 

“We did drink too much,” Sameen states, taking her eyes off Root like she’s uncomfortable, or hiding something.

 

Root laughs bitterly. “And let me guess, I was just _there_?” she says, disgusted at the thought.

 

“Yes you were, Root” Sameen replies, setting aside the cup and rising to her feet like she’s daring Root to fight.

 

“Well that answers that,” Root answers with a shrug and a sour smile. “Maybe I should just go.”

 

“Yeah, maybe you should,” Sameen challenges when Root grabs the doorknob. “Aren’t you going to Prague or something?”

 

Root digs into her bag and pulls out a large envelope and the plane ticket before she shoves them both in Sameen’s hands.

 

“She needs your skills with a relevant number,” she explains, her anger burning behind her every word. “Your plane leaves in two hours.”

 

Sameen doesn’t have time to react that already Root has left her, rushing inside the house like she can’t stand Sameen’s presence anymore. Hesitating only for a moment, Sameen wonders if she should just let Root go, or if she should follow her in. She hasn’t really decided yet and still she finds herself inside the empty home, running after Root.

 

“Did the Machine send you?” she asks, her voice almost yelling, now that it echoes in the empty hall.

 

Root stops in front of the door, furious. She’s running a hand through her hair when she lets out an angry, “what?”

 

“Did the Machine really send you here?” Sameen questions again, and when Root moves for the door she pulls on her arm harshly, forcing her to turn around and drop her bag. “Root?”

 

Root averts her eyes. “You should get ready to leave,” she speaks through gritted teeth, resisting Sameen’s hold. “The airport isn’t close by and traffic’s gonna be a bitch.”

 

Sameen tightens her grasp on Root’s wrist, fingers bruising. “Root,” she groans again, but before she can add anything Root’s other hand comes up to fist her hair, pulling her forward before she bites down on Sameen’s lower lip so hard that the pain brings tears to her eyes. Root barely hears the hiss as she pushes Sameen into the empty living room, pressing forward until Sameen’s back hits the wall hard. With the force of the impact Sameen loses her grip on Root’s wrist, and that hand snakes its way behind Sameen.

 

Voice slightly lowered with arousal, Sameen tries to protest; “this isn’t-”, she starts, but Root’s nails are scratching her lower back deep enough that Sameen wonders if she’s drawing blood. “Sam, you have to-” Sameen tries again in a whisper, almost weak.

 

“Shut up,” Root warns with gritted teeth. She locks her eyes into Sameen’s as she slips her hand further up the tank top, palm coming to knead her breast roughly. “Unless you want me to stop.”

 

Sameen’s hands settle on Root’s waist, pulling her closer, and Root lowers her head, sucking on Sameen’s earlobe as her hand continues her work. Sameen lets out another small moan of pain, and Root notices her jaw clenching, trying hard not to say anything.

 

“You can say my name,” she whispers in Sameen’s ear, her hand trekking down Sameen’s body until it slips inside her sweatpants, her other hand still pulling hair relentlessly. “And nothing else.”

 

Sameen closes her eyes, the fingers teasing her as she holds on to Root. She moves her head quickly to catch Root’s lips and Root’s mouth tastes like fake mint. With the aftertaste of coffee in her mouth it seems wrong and yet Sameen doesn’t mind; she kisses Root again and again until Root pulls apart.

 

“You can’t say you don’t want it,” Root whispers, finally pushing her fingers inside Sameen. “You can’t say you don’t want _me_.”

 

She sounds assertive but Sameen hears the worry in her voice.

 

“Say it,” Root almost begs and her eyes are filled with water when Sameen digs into her hips, spreading her own legs a bit more and grinding against Root’s hand. When Sameen opens her mouth again Root twists her wrist slightly and Sameen cries out her name against Root’s shoulder. It echoes in the empty room nonetheless, loud and twisted and Sameen closes her eyes, Root’s hair brushing against her cheek as she continues to move within her.

 

As Root increases her rhythm Sameen’s breathing grows more and more ragged until she pulls Root into an almost desperate kiss, biting at Root’s lip until she allows her tongue entrance. She comes then, Root’s fingers tugging at her hair hard as Sameen’s tongue curls up inside Root’s mouth, her hands still holding Root close.

 

When Root tries to pull apart Sameen keeps her there, grabbing her wrist as her hips sway slowly against Root’s hand. Hesitating, Root sends her a puzzled look, yet Sameen only closes her eyes, drinking in Root’s perfume before she leans forward, biting on Root’s neck almost gently.

 

Root starts moving within her again, unhurriedly this time and Sameen relaxes against her, her hands kneading Root’s back and urging her closer. “Don’t leave,” she whispers against Root’s shoulder, and Root feels her shivering against her and Sameen’s muscles start tightening around her fingers for a second time.

 

“Root,” she speaks softly as she rides out her second orgasm, and Root’s nose lingers at her cheek until Sameen comes undone. They stay there a moment, quiet, breaths uneven, until Sameen places one soft kiss just below Root’s damaged ear. “I just don’t know what this is,” her voice sounds small and tired against Root’s chest.

 

Root pulls apart then, worrying at her lip. “Shaw, I’m not...” but she’s unable to finish, unable to say the words. She doesn’t know what she wants to add to that. _I’m not asking for anything_ or _I’m not in love with you_ or _I’m not going to break_. Maybe she wants to promise she’s not leaving, but it would all sound as a lie and she can’t lie to Sameen. Not now.

 

“I’m not staying,” Root swallows hard. Averting her eyes, she sighs. “I have to go.”

 

She takes one look at Sameen, her messed up hair, her dishevelled clothes, and then flashes a fake smile.

 

“I’ll see you around, Sameen.”

 

And then Root is gone.

 

 

[...]

 

 

Traffic is slow as Sameen drives to the airport, her eyes on the road as she ignores the strange tightening in her throat she feels every time she thinks of Root, of the empty house and the fresh grave she’s leaving behind. No matter how much she focuses on the mission ahead all she pictures is that patch of green grass that became a crater for her mother to rest in, or a naked and bruised Root curled up on the bathroom floor.

 

As she pulls into the airport’s parking lot she sees a little boy sitting by himself on a bench, his luggage pooled around him, and she’s reminded of a night at the ER, a long time ago. Some twelve year old kid had driven his father to the hospital because he had passed out from alcohol poisoning, and had spent the night in the waiting room, doing his math homework without a word. When she imagines the kid she can’t help but picture Root in his place and she frowns, her throat suddenly on fire, like she wants to scream but she doesn’t know what, or why.

 

The loud roar of airplane engines numbs the feeling slightly as she walks towards the main building, thinking of Prague and relevant numbers, and forgetting all about the ghosts that seem to follow in her wake.


	7. Friday

The streets of Prague are filled with drunken youths celebrating loudly before summer finally leaves, and Sameen shivers from the cold as she thoroughly ignores their constant singing, pulling on the sleeves of her hoodie to gather more warmth. In front of her, the water of the river looks as black as tar and only the waves running on top of it remind her that it isn’t. She leans on the parapet, her eyes gazing at the city that spreads on the other side of the bridge, and sighs.

 

In her pocket her phone feels heavy as she tries to forget what time it is. Prague has just reached ten p.m., but she knows somewhere else on this planet, it is three, and no one is awaiting her call. If she dug in her pocket and dialed her mother’s number, she would find it disconnected. She bites down on her lower lip as she unwillingly thinks of her, of the voice she will never hear again and probably forget soon, of the trivial questions she won’t be answering every Friday afternoon from now on.

 

Her throat is tightening as she remembers the sight of her mother in that hospital bed. _She’s holding on to say goodbye_ , they had told her, but she hadn’t exchanged a word with her mom and she had died so suddenly, Sameen’s hand in hers, like her father had died year before, Sameen at his side, and then Cole, his eyes boring into hers. Behind her the drunken choir is louder and louder, and Sameen listens to it then, drowning in the cacophony of people being joyfully alive as she watches the city lights flickering against the night sky.

 

“Did you know Prague means _crossing_?” a familiar voice asks behind her, and Sameen doesn’t turn around. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, ignoring the sudden burning deep inside. “And something about a threshold too, but I’m a bit confused about that one.”

 

Root leans on the railing beside her, and Sameen smells her perfume and something like gasoline, but she’s not about to question it. She keeps her eyes straight ahead, clenching her jaw.

 

“What do you want?” Sameen groans, and Root shifts a bit closer, throwing a glance behind her at the drunk choir before turning back to Sameen.

 

“Don’t you want to go somewhere more... quiet?” she asks in a low voice.

 

Sameen looks up at her then, throwing her eyes inside Root’s. “Hell no.”

 

She watches as pain flashes on Root’s face and disappears, yet instead of quenching the fire inside Sameen it only flares up, brighter and violent.

 

“We have to talk,” Root insists, flinching when the choir distorts a song particularly loudly.

 

Sameen gazes at the river again, but it doesn’t seem as comforting as before. Her eyes spare a glance at the people crossing the bridge on foot, some hand in hand, some as a group of cheerful friends celebrating the beginning of the weekend. She remembers that night at the bar with Root, how beautiful Sameen found her then, the silence between them comfortable and warm. The rush of having Root’s hands roaming her body on the backseat of the car, the sheer want she felt at that moment. She bites down her lip and focuses on her anger instead.

 

“Shaw, please,” Root whispers, her hand blindly reaching for Sameen’s. Sameen looks at the slender fingers until they reach hers, and then moves her hand away.

 

“I got nothing to say,” Sameen warns her, her fists closing. Root’s perfume seems almost invasive now and she can’t stand it. She walks away, moving towards the bridge, and she has to repress the urge to run all the way back to her hotel. She hears Root’s footsteps behind her despite the cacophony of the city and turns around. “Stop following me,” she orders before she starts walking again.

 

Root continues nonetheless. “This is ridiculous, Shaw” Root tells her, pulling on Sameen’s hoodie to stop her, only to have Sameen turn around and close the distance between them.

 

“What’s ridiculous is you,” she barks against Root’s face, “insisting that this means anything.”

 

She pushes Root away from her and gets onto the bridge. The air above the river is cooler against her skin, sharper as it slips under her clothes and she takes it in. Her heart is beating fast in her ears, furious and wild.

 

“I’m sorry I left,” she hears Root saying behind her, but she doesn’t turn around. She thinks back to that moment and her throat tightens again, an explosion inside.

 

Shaw can’t help but turn around then, fuming and confused as she pulls Root towards her. She ignores the eyes of the strangers landing on them as she crashes her lips against Root’s, revelling in the smell of gasoline, smoke, and her perfume all mixed together. The kiss isn’t soft; it’s angry and bruising and Root hisses against her, her hands coming to rest at Sameen’s hips.

 

When they pull apart, Root keeps her eyes closed. “Sameen, I-”

 

“Do you want to fuck me?” Sameen asks as if it was a threat. Root’s eyes flutter open, surprised.

 

“What?” she blinks, a worried frown appearing on her face.

 

Sameen stares at her, a wild look in the back of her eyes. “I want to fuck you,” she says in a low voice, low enough that the people around them cannot hear. “But I won’t be gentle, Root,” she pulls on Root’s belt and urges her closer. “I’ll make you scream. Do you want that?”

 

Root hears the threat, sees the fire in Sameen’s eyes and swallows hard. “What if I did?” she replies, eyes falling on Sameen’s lips. “What then?”

 

Sameen only laughs bitterly before she lets her go. She starts walking towards her hotel again and Root follows her, blinking in confusion. They are almost off the bridge when Sameen spares her another look.

 

“You and me Root,” she shakes her head. “It’s never going to work.”

 

For a moment, Root thinks that she has just been stabbed; there’s something pouring out of her like blood flowing from a wound, thicker with every pulse, weakening her as she shivers.

 

“I said I was sorry,” she whispers sadly. Sameen stops walking away, but it has more to do with the light being red, and less with the desire to listen to Root’s apologies.

 

“What do you want, Root?” Sameen groans when she can’t bear Root’s silence anymore. Root doesn’t find her words before the light switches, and Sameen’s bitter smile feels like another blow. “You don’t know, do you?”

 

She crosses the street, Root in tow, yet they get separated by the crowd coming from the other side and Root has to run to meet up with Sameen again.

 

“Shaw,” Root grabs her hand, and this time Sameen doesn’t push her away. “I want you.”

 

Sameen’s eyes are burning with something like lust, but her words are acidic. “That’s been kind of obvious.”

 

Root lets go of her hand then, averting her eyes as they walk in silence until they reach the main entrance of Sameen’s hotel. Sameen turns to look at Root expectantly, unsure if she wants her to insist, or to say goodbye.

 

“Are you going to invite me to your room?” Root asks, her voice falsely cheerful. “You did promise to make me scream.”

 

Sameen sighs, rolling her eyes. “I don’t owe you anything,” she groans, yet Root hears her anger fading a bit.

 

“I know that,” she mutters, stepping closer. “Can I come with you? Stay the night?”

 

“I think I made it clear it wasn’t a good idea,” Sameen replies sharply, although Root hears the hesitation in her voice.

 

She offers a weak smile, leaning down. “I’ve always been a bit reckless,” she admits, bringing her lips to Sameen’s. She closes her eyes as she feels Sameen kissing back, almost too softly before she bites down on Root’s lip hard, bringing tears to her eyes.

 

“You shouldn’t follow me,” Sameen warns her, yet when she walks inside she holds the door for Root and Root follows.

 

When they get in the elevator there’s another couple with them, sharing tender words and holding hands. Root rolls her eyes, sparing a glance towards Sameen who smirks. When the two strangers reach their floor and finally get off, the doors barely have time to close that already Root is being pushed against the elevator wall roughly, the railing digging into her lower back painfully. Her head hurts where it impacts with the wall and she blinks a few times, hands instinctively reaching to hold onto Sameen.

 

Sameen’s thigh comes to rest between her legs, pushing against her and insisting. Root gasps when Sameen’s hand comes at her throat, her thumb digging into her neck painfully, but not restricting air. Sameen’s breath is warm against Root’s skin and she stops trying to push Sameen away and instead, pull her close.

 

“Do it, Shaw,” she croaks, her voice sending low vibrations through the skin under Sameen’s hand. Sameen pushes against it, her thigh grinding on Root’s center as she chokes her. The small space seems infinitely smaller as she focuses on the way Root’s lips part, her pupils dilating as she lets out a pained hiss.

 

The elevator announces their level and Sameen blinks, quickly letting go of Root. She takes a step backwards as the doors open, staring as Root brushes a hand around her neck, smoothing the skin as she smirks. Sameen ignores the pull she feels then, the air leaving her lungs as she looks at Root. She steps out and moves towards her bedroom’s door, knowing Root is following behind.

 

When Sameen enters the hotel room she half expects Root to be gone, and yet she follows her in quietly, and closes the door behind her. Sameen turns around then, her fists closed and this fire inside burning wild. She looks in Root’s eyes, finds no fear, and shakes her head. “I really want to hurt you Root,” she warns with a low voice, and Root bites down her lower lip in expectation.

 

“I know,” she whispers, taking a step forward. “I’ll let you.”

 

Sameen’s arousal mixes with her anger, the burning inside almost consuming her whole and she breathes down deeply, her mind replaying the moment in the elevator, Root’s lips parting as she painfully hissed.

 

“You can’t break me,” Root reassures her again, stepping closer and leaning down, eyes digging into Sameen’s. “I’ll stop you if I need to.”

 

There’s a mischievous grin that appears on Root’s face a second before she snakes her leg behind Sameen’s, making her lose her balance and sending her backwards. Both of them fall onto the door hard, Root barely catching herself as her body hits Sameen, causing them both to wince in pain.

 

As if a spark in a gas-filled room, Sameen feels something explode inside her, the heat running up her throat and almost blinding as she takes Root’s forearm and twist it into a wristlock. Hissing as she turns around, Root’s body instinctively tries to adjust to the shift, even though she knows it’s impossible. When Sameen pushes forward, Root falls down on one knee, unwillingly crying out in pain. There are tears welling up in her eyes and she struggles with her erratic breathing, the helplessness causing panic inside her chest, yet she remains silent and still.

 

Sameen maintains her hold with one hand and leans down beside her, the shift deepening the hurt and Root’s shoulder feels like it’s tearing up. When Root gasps again, her face contorted in pain, Sameen pushes once more, almost too suddenly, yet Root still doesn’t scream. Instead, she clenches her jaw and closes her eyes, one hand on the hotel’s carpet, knuckles whitening. Sameen finally releases the hold, at the same time sending a rough kick against Root’s side, making her fall onto her back.

 

“Did the Machine send you, Root?” she whispers as she comes to straddle Root, effectively pinning her to the floor. Root gasps when Sameen leans down and bites her neck, yet she turns her head to allow Sameen better access, one hand kneading her thigh over the rough fabric of her pants. Root’s other arm doesn’t move, and when Sameen grabs both wrists to pin them above Root’s head, Root cries out again.

 

The sudden fidgeting below her throbs pleasantly against Sameen’s center but she stops, frowning when Root struggles against her hold, rushing one hand to her shoulder, obviously in pain. Sameen lets go of Root’s wrists then, her fingers slipping under Root’s leather jacket to massage the wounded muscles and nerves, and a tear runs down Root’s cheek. Root brushes it away quickly, steering a defiant look towards Sameen.

 

Smirking, Sameen allows one hand further down Root’s chest, pressing down on her rib cage until she meets with Root’s breast, teasing a nipple between a finger and a thumb. Root relaxes into the gesture, hips bucking slightly, sending another wave of arousal through Sameen.

 

When Sameen’s weight vanishes from above her, Root blinks in confusion until she sees an arm extended just above her. She realises Sameen has moved to stand up and she grabs the hand that helps her up the floor a bit forcefully. “I asked you something,” Sameen insists, pulling off Root’s jacket and throwing it to the side. Underneath, Root’s white t-shirt is thin enough that Sameen can almost see Root’s skin shivering and Sameen’s smirk widens.

 

Her fingers twist a nipple roughly and Root’s hands immediately rush to tug at her hair, her breathing erratic and pained. Sameen places her palm against Root’s lower stomach and pushes her deeper into the room. When they reach the phone desk Sameen throws whatever is on it aside, not sparing it a look as she lifts Root to sit on top of it. Sameen moves to rest between Root’s legs, on hand on her thigh, the other on her throat.

 

Root’s eyes look down to find Sameen’s. “You know the answer already,” Root replies in a low voice. When she swallows hard Sameen feels it against her palm and squeezes lightly.

 

“But you have to say it,” Sameen orders before she starts strangling Root again, her fingers digging into the skin as she pushes against her throat forcefully. Root’s hands come to rest on her forearm, caressing the muscle almost fondly, urging her on.

 

Root’s eyelids shut tight as she lets the air leave her lungs, dizziness quickly settling in, right before the panic, the instinct to struggle. She fights hard against it, remaining still in Sameen’s hold, yet when she feels her mind slipping towards unconsciousness she buries her nails into Sameen’s skin and the pressure gets released. There’s another tear running down her cheek, and this time it’s Sameen’s finger who comes to brush it away.

 

“Do it again,” Root breathes out, coughing as she begs, and Sameen pulls her off the table roughly. With rushed fingers she undoes Root’s belt and pushes down her pants and underwear as Root pulls off her t-shirt and unclasps her bra. Sameen stops to stare at Root’s naked body then, the bruises here and there, fading lightly. There is a new cut on her arm and some scratches on her thigh, but she doesn’t question them, like she doesn’t question the gasoline smell that fogs her brain. She brushes her hand against one of the more purplish bruises, smiling when Root moans a little.

 

Pulling Root by her hair, Sameen forces her towards the bed, Root complying as her hands tug at Sameen’s clothes. “Aren’t you overdressed?” she complains in a whisper, but when Sameen throws her on the bed carelessly, Root only licks her lips in expectation, trying to ignore her desire to pull off that hoodie and feel Sameen’s skin under her palms.

 

Sameen climbs on top of her then, straddling her with a mischievous grin on her face. She comes down to bite Root’s nipple hard and Root cries out softly, her hands slipping under Sameen’s hoodie. Sameen brushes her off quickly, remaining completely dressed as she comes to rest her hand on Root’s throat again, and Root nods.

 

“Just...” she starts, her hand running over Sameen’s forearm, unable to find the words.

 

“I know,” Sameen replies, shifting so that her knee comes to meet with Root’s labia. The fabric of her pants makes Root hiss and Sameen smirks, the heat wetting her clothes as she slowly moves against Root.

 

Her hand adds pressure on Root’s throat again and Root struggles against it almost immediately. Sameen stops, frowning. “What?” she asks, leaning down.

 

“I need more,” Root whispers, her feet digging into the mattress as she tries moving up. She winces when her shoulder hurts again, pain flashing like lightning across her chest. “To feel you more.”

 

Sameen complies, raking her nails down Root’s stomach, teasing. Root closes her eyes, ignoring the tightening in her throat even though Sameen isn’t choking her anymore, and the tears she feels like letting out.

 

“I came because I wanted to be there for you,” Root adds before she stares into Sameen’s eyes, watching as the smirk disappears from her face, replaced by an odd, hurt expression. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

 

Root fully expects Sameen to strangle her again as anger returns to her traits, cold and grave. Yet instead Sameen’s fingers run down her chest and dig just under the ribs, painfully pushing down. The sudden pain makes Root squirm and hiss, yet instead of fighting against it she moves up, entangling her arms around Sameen’s neck.

 

“I don’t know what this is either,” she whispers, her warm breath running down Sameen’s chin as Root pulls her closer, ignoring the sting caused by Sameen’s fingers that is making it hard for her to breathe again.

 

Sameen doesn’t stop hurting her as they kiss and Root moans into her mouth. She places one hand on Sameen’s other wrist, guiding it down her body, and Sameen allows her. When she reaches Root’s labia Sameen slowly releases the pressure under Root’s ribs and Root closes her eyes, her naked skin almost feverishly hot against Sameen’s hoodie.

 

“I’m sorry I left,” she repeats in a murmur, placing warm, frantic kisses along Sameen’s jaw. “I just couldn’t-” Sameen pushes a finger inside her and Root cries out before she bites her lower lip. “Stay,” she continues with a raspy, low voice. “I just couldn’t stay.”

 

Sameen pushes her down on the mattress, her anger flaring inside. She spreads Root’s legs almost forcefully and moves to fit between them. “Nobody can,” she replies, one hand coming back to Root’s throat. Root grinds against Sameen’s waist as Sameen blocks the air from entering her lungs, a wild look in her eyes. “Nobody ever stays.”

 

Root’s eyes close, her legs encircling Sameen’s body even as she fists the sheets, trying not to struggle against Sameen’s choke. She feels the panic settling in her chest again, the absence of air driving her mad while exhaustion settles in her muscles, pleasure throbbing throughout her nervous system. Root blinks a few times, struggling to stay awake and when she feels like letting go she squeezes Sameen’s arm again, and Sameen stops.

 

Root coughs when the burning air comes back in and she moves to the side, suddenly afraid she’s going to throw up. When she doesn’t she turns around to find Sameen sitting on the edge of the bed, looking so desperately lost in her large hoodie, eyes filled with water. Root moves closer, landing one hand on Sameen’s thigh.

 

“Shaw,” she tries, the name coming out soft despite the ache in her throat. “Sometimes people just have to leave.”

 

Sameen doesn’t say anything, averting her eyes and closing her fists, and in Root’s eyes she suddenly looks like an abandoned kid. She fights the urge to pull her into her arms. “You can’t be angry about that,” Root adds, yet somehow as she speaks she realises she’s talking to herself more than anything – Sameen still thoroughly ignoring her. “You can just be angry at the shit they leave you with.”

 

The curse word seems to pull Sameen out of her thoughts and she turns to Root then, frowning. “I’m always angry,” she admits in a groan, yet she sounds exhausted.

 

Root worries at her lip, shifting closer. “You weren’t angry that night,” she whispers, her mind going back to the sensation of Sameen moving within her, her lips down her neck, her warm skin seemingly covering every inch of her.

 

“But I was,” Sameen replies, and if Root didn’t know better she’d think it was shame flashing in Sameen’s eyes.

 

Smiling softly, Root tugs on Sameen’s clothes as if protesting. “At first,” she admits as she pulls off Sameen’s hoodie, watching as it messes up her hair and brings her closer to Root. “And then you weren’t.”

 

Sameen doesn’t look convinced, but she allows Root to rid her of her tank top and her bra anyway, remaining still as Root’s black nails rake down her skin.

 

“You did promise to make me scream,” Root purrs, her fingers moving to undo Sameen’s belt. She’s irradiating heat and Sameen closes her eyes as she gets another whiff of that strange mixture of gasoline mixed with Root’s perfume.

 

“What’s that smell?” she asks in a low, tired voice, her eyes searching for Root’s.

 

Root smirks. “Oh, I had to blow something up earlier,” she answers like it’s regular business.

 

At that Sameen finally reacts, hungry eyes staring at Root while she stands up to take off the rest of her clothes. Over the covers Root’s pale skin almost glows and Sameen absently licks her lips, climbing above her once again. Her hands run from Root’s thighs to her chest, and come to massage the shoulder she hurt earlier.

 

“It’s fine Sameen, leave it,” Root suggests, pulling Sameen closer and kissing her before biting her lower lip gently.

 

Sameen still continues her soothing movements, but she sends one hand to Root’s breast, teasing her until Root moans, pushing against the mattress to meet with Sameen’s palm.

 

“Shaw,” she insists with ragged breaths, “just leave it alone.”

 

“It’s almost dislocated,” Sameen argues although she stops her massage, sending worried eyes into Root’s.

 

Pulling her down again, Root bites Sameen’s lip lightly. “I said, leave it alone,” she repeats, one hand coming to brush against Sameen’s labia. Sameen closes her eyes for a second, revelling in the touch before she leans down to suck Root’s neck while her other hand moves lower. She hears Root moaning in expectation and she smirks, her fingers slowly dragging down her stomach.

 

Before she can reach Root’s center, Root stops her. “Shaw,” she whispers against her, “can I try something?”

 

Sameen frowns before she nods, surprised when Root pushes against her shoulder to tip her balance and make her fall down on the bed. Sameen is lying on her back when Root comes on top of her, straddling her. She leans down, holding herself up with her good arm, and pulls one of Sameen’s nipples into her mouth, sucking and biting as her hair fall on Sameen’s chest, teasing. Sameen takes a deep breath before she returns her hand between Root’s legs, raking a fingertip over her wet center.

 

Root gasps at the touch, but immediately sways her hips closer to Sameen’s hand, moving to urge her on. Sameen stares at Root’s naked skin, pale against the darkness of the night, the city lights adding little spots of color here and there. She slips two fingers inside Root, watching her react to every movement until Sameen raises her other hand to pull Root down. Root hisses as she does, slightly leaning on both arms despite the hurt spreading from her shoulder, and kisses Sameen almost frantically.

 

Sameen’s hand kneads her breast, feeling Root melting into her as she grinds more rapidly against Sameen’s fingers. Root smirks before she angles up, her back almost straight up even as she arcs her hips into Sameen’s body, riding her hard enough that it sends little flashes of pain through Sameen’s wrist. Root is panting and sweating above her and Sameen wonders if she ever saw anything as beautiful as the city lights coloring Root’s naked skin. Root works herself up, her hands holding onto Sameen’s thighs, digging into the flesh.

 

When Root closes her eyes and bites on her lip, Sameen feels the burning inside only growing, arousal taking her over. “Fuck, Root,” Sameen lets out, breathing erratically as she lets a hand trace down Root’s stomach, nails scratching red lines on the way. Root moans when she leans down again, her hair brushing Sameen’s body.

 

“Shaw, I’m,” Root starts, yet Sameen runs a thumb over her clit, making her lose whatever she was saying. Sameen’s other hand comes to rest at Root’s side, helping her keep her balance as she moves more rapidly. Root’s orgasm builds up rapidly and Sameen is biting down her lower lip as she watches her come undone. Root’s lips come apart and she whispers Sameen’s name quietly, and in the sudden quietness of the night it sounds like a promise.

 

She breathes out and runs a hand through her hair before she moves, wincing when Sameen’s fingers leave her. She leans down and kisses Sameen hard, her tongue pushing against Sameen’s lips, demanding and rough. Sameen smirks into the kiss until Root pulls apart, grinning. “That was...” she starts, and notices the warm look in Sameen’s eyes.

 

“Yeah,” Sameen whispers against Root’s lips, her hand running up Root’s side. Root’s smile only widens, yet she buries it into Sameen’s neck, licking and biting gently.

 

Root’s lips slowly trace down Sameen’s collarbone, one hand teasing a nipple as the other digs into the mattress, keeping her steady as she moves down Sameen’s body. She stops at her breast for a moment, sucking at the skin until Sameen breathes so heavily that it almost sounds like a moan. Root smirks as she continues biting Sameen’s stomach, licking her lips when she finally reaches Sameen’s hips.

 

She raises her eyes to stare into Sameen’s, warmed by the sheer desire she sees there, the arousal moving Sameen’s chest up and down so rapidly. Root grins as her hands push against Sameen’s legs, further exposing her, and she gathers her hair into her fist before she leans down. Her warm breath teases and Sameen unwillingly bucks her hips.

 

“Root,” she complains, bringing one hand to Root’s head and pressuring her down.

 

“I know,” Root whispers, smiling, her tongue darting forward. Sameen moves closer, her fingers digging into Root’s scalp until she feels Root’s mouth, warm against her.

 

Sameen grinds slowly as Root’s tongue runs down her labia, her fingers coming to set the lips apart. She teases Sameen, stopping to bite her thigh before she returns her attention to where Sameen needs her most. Root slips two fingers into her as she circles her clit with her tongue, sucking hard until Sameen hisses.

 

Root lifts up her eyes for a moment, revelling in the way Sameen’s body waves over the covers, the way her hand fists the sheets, her eyelids shut tight. She smiles and Sameen notices, groaning. “Root, just,” Sameen looks at her for a second and glares. “Just finish what you started.”

 

The hand over Root’s head pushes her down again and Root laughs quietly before she returns her mouth to Sameen’s center, her tongue adding pressure to her engorged clit as she moves her fingers more rapidly. The rhythm drives Sameen to the edge and her nails dig into Root’s skin as she comes, this time allowing a soft moan out of her lips, and Root likes to think it sounds a bit like her name. She brushes a hand on her mouth, wiping a bit of Sameen’s wetness as she crawls back to rest her head on Sameen’s chest.

 

She winces when she puts too much weight on her wounded shoulder and Sameen frowns. “You need to let me check that out,” she insists, running a hand through Root’s hair to lift her gaze towards her.

 

“In the morning,” Root almost whines, and Sameen rolls her eyes, but doesn’t insist. She watches as Root’s breathing slows down progressively, falling asleep curled up against Sameen, and when Sameen moves to get her under the sheets Root opens her eyes again. “Are you leaving?”

 

Sameen frowns, gesturing for her to move as she pulls the sheets off the bed. Root complies, quickly settling under the covers and then tugging on Sameen’s arm to drag her closer. She bites Sameen’s neck gently before she rests against her chest again, half asleep as her hand traces circles on Sameen’s stomach.

 

“You didn’t answer me,” Root whispers, eyes closed.

 

Sameen’s chin comes to rest on Root’s head. “In the morning.”

 

Looking out the window at the night sky, Sameen listens as Prague turns quiet again, Root slowly falling asleep against her. All she can hear is Root’s constant breathing, like a second pulse beating against her chest and Sameen’s mind slowly drifts into slumber, dark and heavy like a river of tar.


End file.
